


On the Long, Slow Road to Being James

by nm_317



Category: Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: Coming Out, First Time, M/M, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-21
Updated: 2013-07-20
Packaged: 2017-12-20 21:09:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 36,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/891891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nm_317/pseuds/nm_317
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James has decided to stop living a lie. But he's going to do it his way: slowly</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place in 2010 and the beginning of 2011. There are eventual mentions of Richard's accident and James' accident in Syria.

 

“James?” Richard calls from the other side of the kitchen.  
  
“Clarkson,” James growls impatiently as he snatches a piece of Scalextric track from out of Jeremy’s hand. “Look at it. It can’t possibly go there.”  
  
Jeremy begins to argue, but James turns his attention toward Richard, who is leaning against the counter, arms folded across his chest. “Yeah?”  
  
“Where’s your juicer? Is it – did you put it away in one of the cabinets?”  
  
 _It was never **my**  juicer_, he wants to mutter. “Don’t have it any more.” Before Richard can question why, James continues, sarcastically, “Why? Were you wanting to juice something?”  
  
Richard shrugs. “Was thinkin’ about it. But never mind.” He grabs another beer and settles down next to the other men. “No, Jeremy,” he argues with a laugh. “It really doesn’t go there.”  
  
Both men begin pointing out the shape of the track piece needed versus the shape of the piece Jeremy is adamant about attaching as Jeremy mutters, “Stupid fucking toys” over and over under his breath.  
  
“Jeremy,” James begins, as calmly as he can.  
  
“What?”  
  
“When I asked you what you wanted to do today, what did you say?”  
  
“Sd it din mana.”  
  
“I’m sorry. I’m not fluent in oaf. Can you repeat that?”  
  
“I said it didn’t matter.”  
  
“Right. And Hammond and I want to race cars.”  
  
“And I want to race cars, too, James. What I don’t want is to follow some stupid diagram and snap together some stupid plastic pieces just so….”  
  
“Jeremy!” That’s Richard, the laughter in his voice outweighing his frustration with the same row they’ve been having for nearly an hour. “How do you reckon you can race the cars without first building the sodding track?!”  
  
Jeremy sighs and leans back against the wall. “I’ll just sit here. Let me know when the two of you are done.”  
  
A wave of fond exasperation wafts over James, and he can’t help but smile as he responds, “That’s what we’ve been saying.”  
  
Jeremy smiles back and rubs his eyes tiredly.  _With his chuffing awful teeth and saggy jaw, his smile really shouldn’t be so gorgeous._  It’s not the first time James has had that thought – it’s not even the first time today – but he still drops his head as if Jeremy might be able to see it in his eyes. He runs his fingers through his hair as if to push it away from his face, and it isn’t until they’re tangled in the strands that he remembers it’s only from habit now, not necessity. He’s entering, very reluctantly, a new chapter in his life. Might as well top it off with a new, shorter, hairstyle.  
  
“Why is it so hard?” Jeremy whinges, and James says – not for the first time – a brief, silent apology to the man’s mother. He really should get his mum to bake Mrs. Clarkson a fruitcake. Or twelve.  
  
Richard reaches behind him for the empty Scalextric box they’d set aside earlier and tosses it in Jeremy’s direction. James can’t hold back a snort when it hits him in the face. “What does it say on the box, Jezza?”  
  
“Not recommended for children under 8 years of age,” Jeremy reads, drawing each word out like an uncertain child.  
  
“And you are…?”  
  
“Much older than that. It’s still bloody difficult.”  
  
James lifts his head, then, sharing a smile with his other friend. Richard shakes his head in bemusement, his stringy hair flopping. James can hardly wait until Richard cuts his hair. It doesn’t stop the man from being bloody attractive, but James has had more than enough of this particular midlife crisis.  _You fucking imbecile. Stop thinking like that. Fuck. Why did I think it was a good idea to invite them over? Now, of all times, when I’m feeling lonely. And pathetic. Oh, right. Because I’m lonely and pathetic.  
  
And they really are the best mates I’ve ever had._  
  
\--  
  
“Mate?”  
  
James glances up from the film to see Richard standing uncertainly in the doorway. He looks ready for bed now, having changed into an old, faded t-shirt and pajama bottoms, his hair damp from the shower.  
  
“Hmm?”  
  
“Where…? Is there something…? Why…?”  
  
“Christ, Hamster,” Jeremy groans. “Spit it out.”  
  
Richard sighs and bites his lip, and James isn’t sure exactly what’s coming, but he has an idea.  _Damn._  “Where’s Sarah, mate?”  
  
“France. Like I told you.” At least, James assumes she’s in France. She’s gone there this time of year for as long as he can remember. He can’t imagine why it would be any different this year.  
  
“And when’s she coming back?”  
  
At the hesitancy in Richard’s voice, Jeremy shifts beside James and murmurs, “May?”  
  
“Back to London? Week or so.”  
  
Jeremy chimes in, and it’s one thing to hear the anxious tone of Hammond’s voice. It’s quite another to hear something similar in Jeremy’s. “And here?”  
  
James takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “She’s not.” He frowns up at Hammond. “How’d you know?”  
  
Richard crosses the room, and, instead of settling back into his spot in the armchair, motions at James. “Budge up.” James does so, reluctantly, and Richard sits in the open space. “There’s only one toothbrush in the…thing,” he says to answer James’ question. “I didn’t go through your…drawers or anything, I just…. And the juicer’s gone. I know you hated it, but…. And….” Richard pauses as he glances around the room, his eyes finally settling on the bookcase. “Things were different. I didn’t – I wasn’t sure what, but something….” He trails off, before continuing, “Your pictures. The ones of her. They’re gone. And that clock that….”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
Jeremy touches his knee – just lightly, and just for a second, because even though his friend likes to push James’ boundaries, he won’t want to upset him, not like that, not now – and asks, “What happened, May?”  
  
“Nothing. Just…nothing.”  
  
“Almost ten years down the toilet,” Richard argues, his voice getting strident - and James knows he’s thinking of Mindy, imagining  **that**  ending, and James wants to assure him it’s not the same, could never be the same, but he can’t, can’t tell, can barely admit it to himself – “that’s not nothing, mate.”  
  
James leans back, folding his arms over his chest. He knows it’s a defensive posture, knows it’s going to do nothing to assuage his mates’ worries, but he can’t help it. It’s either this or bolting. “It just wasn’t working anymore,” he says, eyes staring blankly at the television.  
  
“But…you loved each other,” Richard insists in a small voice.  
  
“We did.”  
  
“And…and you just don’t anymore?”  
  
James rubs at his forehead, feeling the creases there, and it’s just one more thing that makes him feel old. That reminds him that it’s pretty much too fucking late now. He should have…. No.  
  
“I still love her,” James says quietly. “M’not sure what she feels about me right now, but….” He swallows dryly. “It’s not about that,” he insists. Then he stands and walks to the kitchen.  
  
They leave him be, for a while, and James is grateful, but by the time the tea has steeped, they’re sitting quietly at the kitchen table. Jeremy opens his mouth to say something, but James suspects Richard has kicked him under the table when his mouth drops closed and his eyes shoot a glare in Richard’s direction. But both men remain silent until James has poured three mugs and joined them at the table.  
  
“Why didn’t you tell us, Slow?” Jeremy grimaces slightly as he takes a sip of tea, and James feels a brief flash of guilt for apparently forgetting exactly how the other man takes it, but pushes the feeling aside. Jeremy can drink the tea or not; James doesn’t sodding care.  
  
“I didn’t – I  **don’t**  want to talk about it.”  
  
Jeremy’s fingers tap on the table as he forms his argument -  _tap, tap, ta-tap, tap, ta-ta-tap_  - and James clenches his fingers around his mug to stop himself from yelling at Jeremy to “find a fucking rhythm, fer Chrissake!”  
  
“May,” he begins, and Richard says, “Jeremy…” in a warning tone that Clarkson ignores. “May, I know you’re emotionally retarded and have this maniacal idea that being a man means never admitting to having a feeling, ever, and never sharing a single personal thing about yourself, lest you…I don’t fucking know, lest you become  **attached**  or make a  **connection**  or some fucking thing. But we’re you’re goddamn friends.”  
  
The table is silent. James leans back in his chair and empties his mug in two long swallows before setting it down with a thump. Then he leans forward, elbows on the table, one finger stabbing the air at Jeremy across the table.  
  
Richard’s eyes grow wide, and, before James has a chance to speak, he squeaks, “What I think Jeremy meant to say was, ‘We’re you’re friends, James, and we’re here for you if you need anything. And we’re really sorry about you and Sarah.’”  
  
“Don’t pretend you know me, Clarkson,” James says, voice shaking on the last word, as if he hadn’t heard Richard.  
  
“I would never even begin to suggest such a thing. How can anyone ever know  **you** , James? You talk and talk and talk, and you never fucking say anything.”  
  
James knows Jeremy’s getting a rise out of him intentionally, trying to goad him into cracking, into spilling his feelings. He’s done it before, and in the end even James had to admit it helped. But not this. Not now.  
  
James stands, wiping sweaty hands on his trousers as he says quietly, “You know where the spare linen is. I’ll see you both in the morning.”  
  
He doesn’t look at either man before turning toward the stairs. Behind him, he hears the thump-thump of Fusker jumping off the worktop to follow him and Richard’s whispered shout at Jeremy: “You bloody pillock! What the fuck were you…?” The last word is cut off as James shuts the door quietly behind him. He wants to slam it, to show his displeasure. He wishes he were that kind of person.  
  
It isn’t until he’s changed and under the covers that he remembers he didn’t rinse out his mug. In the morning, tea will be dried to the inside, and….  _Sod it. Just don’t think about it._  
  
\--  
  
Bleary-eyed, James enters the kitchen the next morning, his stomach and every one of his muscles in knots. The sink is half-full of hot, soapy water before his brain catches up to his eyes and he realizes there are no dirty dishes in the sink. He turns around, expecting to find three dirty mugs, but the table is empty.  
  
“Mornin’, James,” Richard mumbles as he stumbles into the room. “Got any coffee?”  
  
“Some instant stuff in the back of the cupboard. How was the sofa?”  
  
“All right. I’ve had worse.”  
  
James pulls the stopper out of the sink. “Thank you.”  
  
“F’what?”  
  
“Washing up.”  
  
“Was Jezza.” Richard smiles at the surprise on James’ face. “Speak of the devil,” he laughs as groaning and grumbling from the hall grows louder and finally turns into a loud, “What’s for breakfast?”  
  
With a tired grunt, Jeremy leans against the counter next to James. He shifts his weight, until his shoulder is pressing warm against James’.  
  
James smiles down at his feet. It’s a game Jeremy likes to play, one that James is reluctant to admit he doesn’t hate: how long can Jeremy invade James’ personal space before James won’t stand it anymore and complains or moves away? He thinks the record is about three minutes, but that was when Richard’s accident was still fresh in their minds.  
  
After a moment, he tilts his head toward Jeremy without lifting it. “Sorry, Jezza.”  
  
“Yeah.” Something in the way he says that single syllable makes it clear he means both “you’re forgiven” and “I’m sorry, too.”  
  
James pushes back against Jeremy’s shoulder until the other man stands straighter, ending the game. He can still feel the warmth, but with a small space between them, his pulse can begin to steady.  
  
Jeremy takes a couple of long, slow breaths, whistling like a tea kettle – when the very idea is not busy terrifying him, the sound is almost as comforting, somehow, as the kettle; it means the other man is relaxed and  **there**  – then finally speaks. “I – I know there’s something, James. I’ve known it for a while. Last night I thought it was just, you know, this thing with Sarah – I don’t know, maybe I just hoped that was it.”  
  
James wonders whether he should be offended that Jeremy thinks breaking up with his long-term girlfriend isn’t  **enough** , that it can’t be  **this thing**  that’s wrong with him, but he knows that’s not what Jeremy means.  
  
“But it’s not, is it?” he continues. “There’s more?”  
  
James nods. There are light footfalls on the lino and a shadow creeps into James’ vision. He looks up into Richard’s worried brown eyes. “Not today, though, all right?”  
  
“Whenever you’re ready, mate,” Richard assures with a quick, friendly tap to James’ shoulder. “We’ll be here.”  
  
\--  
  
It’s at a pub – not James’ local, he’d made sure of that, thought it might finally be time and if it went badly, he didn’t want to have to  _remember_  every time he wanted a pint – three weeks later the next time they’re all together. Richard had been over twice to help James with a new-old bike, and James and Jeremy had spent a day with Fin at a classic car show. They’d given him concerned glances, but neither had said anything. Yet.  
  
“It’s an ugly car, Hammond.” Jeremy’s voice rises from across the table. James glances up to see if anyone’s looking at them, then sets back to work demolishing his napkin, leaving strips of paper in a steadily-growing pile on the table.  
  
“I’ll admit. There are a couple of design flaws. But….”  
  
With a sigh, James swallows the last of his beer and sets the glass down with a thump. Richard stops his monologue and both men look warily at James. “’M getting another one.” He gets up, steadier than he’d like to be. “Want anything?” Without waiting for an answer, he heads toward the bar. As he’s waiting, he makes conversation with a woman, gives her a recommendation for an inexpensive red wine. She’s pretty, and before Sarah he would have flirted a bit, maybe thought about asking her out. But not anymore.  
  
“Slow,” Jeremy says after he’s returned to the table, the syllable drawn out in a way that means Jeremy can’t believe how well James is living up to his nickname.  
  
“Yeah.” He brings the drink up to his mouth, upper lip dipping into the froth as he takes two long swallows.  
  
“Did you get her number?”  
  
James furrows his brow in confusion. “Did I get whose number?”  
  
“The girl at the bar. The one who was flirting with you!”  
  
“Christ, Jeremy. Keep your voice down. Anyway, she wasn’t flirting with me.”  
  
“She was, mate,” Richard chimes in, glancing almost nervously back and forth between his friends. “Could tell from here.”  
  
James shrugs. Now. This would be a good time. He opens his mouth then closes it against a sudden wave of nausea. With deep breaths, he pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes closed.  
  
There’s a short, light pat just below the sleeve of his jumper. It’s Richard, he can tell immediately, but that doesn’t stop his arm from twitching. He opens his eyes then, shoots Hammond an apologetic look, but the other man just smiles and turns toward Jeremy. “Leave him alone, Jezza,” he says. “If he’s not ready to date again, that’s fine. It’s early.”  
  
“Take it from someone who’s ruined a serious relationship.” Jeremy’s voice is quieter than James might have expected, but he doesn’t talk about his first marriage much. Or anything pre-Francie. “The longer you wait, the harder it is to get back on the horse. Err, so to speak. Find a nice woman, ask her out, and….”  
  
“I’m gay.” The words come out quietly, directed toward the dark beer in front of James.  
  
“…see where it goes,” Jeremy finishes. “Wait, what?”  
  
James takes a couple deep breaths then lifts his head slowly.  
  
“You – you didn’t say what I think you said.”  
  
“Okay. Fine. I didn’t.” He wraps his hand around his glass and begins to lift it toward him. After a moment, a large hand takes the drink from his grasp and sets it carefully in front of him.  
  
“You’re shaking, Slow,” Jeremy says softly.  
  
He is. Quite a lot. And he can’t bear to look across the table at his friends, couldn’t stand to see disappointment or revulsion on their faces, or that look that means they’re worrying that he fancies them, replaying in their mind every time they’ve been close, every time he might have been checking out their arse or smelling their cologne.  
  
Neither man is saying anything, and that’s the worst bit. Good or bad, Jeremy and Richard aren’t known for keeping their thoughts to themselves.  
  
James covers his mouth with a trembling hand and closes his eyes. He hears the screech of chair legs pressing against tile.  _This is it. I wonder which of them is leaving. It’s most likely Jeremy, but…._  
  
Then the bench he’s sitting on wobbles slightly as a weight drops onto it.  
  
“Mate.” It’s Richard, his voice coming from next to James now. “You okay?”  
  
It’s honestly the last thing he’d expected either of his friends to say. He wonders briefly if it’s his opinion of his friends or himself that’s so low.  
  
He finally manages to pull his hand away from his face and open his eyes. His hand drifts under the table, clutches tightly and unseen at the leg of his jeans. He wills his voice not to quaver as his answers, “Yeah.”  
  
“Bollocks.” That’s Jeremy, something in his voice James isn’t sure he’s ever heard. “You can’t even look at us.”  
  
He swallows. “You’re right.” He laughs bitterly. “I can’t.” They’re talking to him, they don’t seem angry, but he can’t look.  
  
Now he can hear Jeremy getting up, then the clunk of a chair being set onto the floor in front of him. With a quiet sigh, the older man sits and leans forward, elbows on his knees. He stretches until one hand rests on the edge of the seat near James’ knee: not touching, just being close.  
  
“May. You’re not getting fired, we’re not going to stop being your friends. We’ll still take the piss out of you for being slow and pedantic and  _you_ , but we’re not going to stop….” Jeremy trails off and sniffs loudly before continuing, voice cracking, “not going to stop being there. Is that what you need to hear?”  
  
James glances up then, into Jeremy’s suspiciously wet eyes, then back at Hammond who gives him an encouraging smile. “Apparently,” he says, eyes tracking back to Jeremy.  
  
He smiles warily at the other man, relieved, but still somewhat on edge, as he brushes the fringe away from his forehead.  
  
Jeremy watches him and chuckles warmly. “Is that why…the new haircut. I gotta tell ya, mate, as a man, I don’t think it’s going to help.”  
  
“Jeremy!” Richard admonishes. “You’re supposed to be helping, not lowering his self-esteem.”  
  
James snorts a laugh. “Don’t worry. I’m not under the impression that I’ll find dating men any easier than dating women has been. Quite the opposite, in fact.”  
  
“Oh, I don’t know,” Richard butts in. “You like cars and bikes and planes. And I think another man would have an easier time dealing with engine parts in the bath.”  
  
James chuckles along with them, but he knows it won’t be that easy. Richard and Jeremy are thinking as a friend, not as a life partner, not as a man who enjoys the company of other men.  
  
The laughter dies down, and James finally manages a sip of his drink, glad to see that the shaking is down to a barely noticeable tremor. “Can I just ask one thing?”  
  
“Of course,” Richard answers brightly.  
  
“Can we do more drinking, and less talking about my personal life?” The other men laugh again, then James continues, “I know there’s more you want to know, but…. For right now, it’s too much, and…go, go sit back across the table, please.”  
  
“That’s our Slow,” Jeremy wheezes, and, to James’ astonishment, reaches over and pats him softly on the cheek. Had it been almost any other man – pretty much anyone other than the two sitting with him now, really – he’d have been tempted to slap him, but with Jeremy he merely rolls his eyes and hopes his face isn’t too flushed.  
  
“Later?” Hammond asks as he drops back into his chair. “When we get back to yours?”  
  
James sighs and nods, not looking forward to it. “Later.”  
  
\--  
  
“Hurry the bloody hell up, May,” Jeremy yells from the front door as James ambles up the walk. “I’m getting soaked.”  
  
Richard ducks his head in an attempt to shield his ears from the rain and hops up and down, hands in his pockets. “I’ve gotta piss, mate.”  
  
“Dear lord,” James grumbles as he slides past them and works on fitting the key into the lock. Fusker greets them at the door, glancing suspiciously up at his friends as though he’s never seen them before, and winds his way between James’ feet as he heads to the kitchen. Jeremy follows him, blowing on his hands cupped in front of his face.  
  
“Missed you, you little shit,” James murmurs to the cat, rubbing the soft fur between his ears as Fusker attacks his food dish like he’s been starved half his life.  
  
He begins to stand, intent on making some tea – it’s the only way he’ll get through this – then hears Jeremy’s, “So, you’re fucking blokes now, May? Or…is it the other way around?”  
  
James swivels his head around quickly – too quickly – toward Jeremy and conks it on the side of the open cupboard door. “Ow, cock.”  
  
“Fuck, Jeremy!” That’s Richard, back from the loo. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you tact?”  
  
James’ eyes are closed, fingers probing gently at the sore spot on his head. “Here, James.” Something cold and flannel-covered is pressed into his hand, Jeremy’s warm fingers covering and guiding his. “Ice,” Jeremy mutters quietly at James’ questioning glance.  
  
“Oh.”  
  
There’s laughter in Jeremy’s eyes and James rolls his own in response. “S’okay. Laugh.”  
  
Jeremy does chuckle then, but barely. “You’re hurt.”  
  
“I’m fine.” It’s not until then that he realizes Jeremy’s hand is still on his. Clearing his throat awkwardly, James steps away and sets about making tea one handed. After a moment, an arm brushes against his.  
  
He turns toward the touch, and Richard pushes him carefully toward the table. “Sit. I’ll make the tea.”  
  
“Remember to let it get hot enough,” James directs as he heads for an empty chair. “And….”  
  
“I know how to make a sodding cup of tea, mate. Had to listen to you rhapsodize about it enough, haven’t I?”  
  
“Right.” After a moment, James pulls the makeshift icepack away from his head and touches gingerly at the bump.  
  
“Gonna live?” Jeremy asks as he settles heavily into the chair next to James’.  
  
“Unfortunately,” he mutters absently.  
  
“James,” the other man breathes, and James’ eyes snap up at the worry in his voice.  
  
“Was just a joke. Promise.”  
  
“So you’re….”  
  
James sighs. “Wait for the tea?”  
  
Jeremy grins at him. “Can’t have an important conversation without tea.”  
  
James smiles back tiredly. “I meant it more so I don’t have to repeat anything once Hammond gets back. But, yes.”  
  
Richard has to ask each of them how he takes his tea, but once James has it in front of him and takes a sip, he has to admit the other man isn’t entirely useless. With a murmured thanks, James takes another sip then sets the mug onto the table in front of him. He leans back into his chair and lets out a quiet “oof” when Fusker decides to jump into his lap.  
  
He looks down at the animal gazing up at him and strokes the fur behind the cat’s ears, where it’s the softest. Fusker is unique in many ways, but in one he’s stereotypical cat: affectionate when it suits him and standoffish when it doesn’t. Climbing into James’ lap when he’s sitting at the kitchen table, visiting with his boorish friends, just isn’t Fusker’s style.  
  
James is grateful for the distraction, eyes locked on his cat as Richard begins to speak.  
  
“How – how long?”  
  
“How long what? How long have I been gay? It doesn’t work like that, you don’t just suddenly ‘become gay’ no matter how often Jeremy worries about it.”  
  
He looks up, expecting a token protest, but Jeremy just raises an eyebrow and wraps his hand around his mug. Richard had given him the one with the chip in the rim, the one James is always meaning to throw away but hasn’t, will probably never, because Richard’s daughters gave it to him for his birthday two years ago – it has a photo of Fusker on it, they made it at one of those machines at Tesco’s, and….  
  
“How long have you known?” Jeremy interrupts his thoughts. James really wishes he hadn’t. “You’re not the most perceptive person on the planet, but even you’re not so oblivious, to not notice you crave cock.” The words are insensitive, but the tone isn’t unkind.  
  
“I’ve always known.” James stares blankly at the tabletop as the words begin to pour out. “I just…pushed it down,” he taps at his chest with his fingertips, “tried to convince myself that I was just as attracted to women, that I could be happy…happy if I just ignored that side of myself, concentrated on…on the  **normal**  side of me.”  
  
“Oh, James,” Jeremy begins, and James folds his arms over his chest; the last thing he wants is Clarkson’s pity. “Nothing about you is normal, mate.”  
  
James can feel his lips widen into a smile. He looks up into his friends’ faces – they’re smiling, too, a little hesitantly, but real – and begins to laugh. It starts quietly, but soon arrives at that horrible seal’s bark of a laugh he gave up trying to hide years ago. It always used to make Sarah duck her head in embarrassment, and that thought just makes him laugh harder.  
  
Richard and Jeremy join him in laughter, and he has to place a hand on Fusker’s back to keep the animal from scurrying away from the sound.  
  
After a moment, his laughter tapers off into the occasional snicker, and he wipes away a laughter-tear from under his eye.  
  
“When…when did you decide…?” Richard trails off. James hates that this is making his friends so faltering, but he can’t help but be glad – and somewhat amazed – they’re treating him so carefully. Richard is ignoring his drink, concentrating instead on his hands: twiddling his fingers, picking at his nails, spinning his wedding ring. It’s a nervous habit he picked up sometime after the accident, and James finds himself thinking – not for the first time – that he wishes he could lay his hand over Richards’ and still the action.  
  
It was never something he could have done before, but only because that isn’t who he is, he doesn’t do things like that. Now he’ll never be able to do it because of what Richard will think it means. James isn’t sure why that makes him so sad.  
  
“When did I decide that other side of me didn’t, in fact, exist? That I’d fabricated it to protect myself?” James can hear his voice tremble; he takes a deep breath and reaches for his tea. This time his hand doesn’t shake. He’s prouder about that than he should be. “I – I, I’m almost fifty, and I wasn’t happy. I love Sarah – that part was never a lie – but when I was…with her….” He tugs at his hair in frustration. He doesn’t talk about the images he’d had to conjure up, doesn’t talk about  **who**  he’d needed to picture and doing what, to be able to please her. He’d like to be able to look his mates in the eye again.  
  
“If I wasn’t happy with  **her** , someone I loved that much…. I had to stop pretending. If I didn’t, I was going to die unhappy, my entire life a lie. I – I told her a couple of months ago. She….” James leans over Fusker, elbows on the table, and steeples his fingers over his mouth and nose. “She didn’t take it well. How could she? I hurt her, and I am deeply sorry about that, will never forgive myself for it, but….”  
  
“Couldn’t be helped,” Jeremy murmurs softly.  
  
“It fucking well could have,” James exclaims loudly, sending Fusker bolting off his lap and into the other room. He’ll have claw marks on his thigh, and he can’t help but think he deserves it. Even Fusker knows how horrible he is. “I could have not been such a fucking tosser.”  
  
It’s completely silent except the tick of the wall clock and the quiet, slightly disgusting sound of the cat cleaning himself in the doorway, until Richard says with a cheeky grin, “Well, that can’t really be helped, either, can it?”  
  
“Fuck you,” he replies without malice.  
  
Richard smiles softly. “There’s one thing you’re wrong about, mate.”  
  
James folds his arms across the table and rests his chin on top. “What’s that?”  
  
“Your entire life, it wasn’t a lie, just that one part. You still love cars?”  
  
A corner of James’ mouth quirks up. “Yeah.”  
  
“And bikes? Airfix models, Scalextric, and really far too many toys for a man your age?” James nods. “Drink and pies and Spam, your tools, the piano?” Another nod. “You still love Fusker?” Richard nods at the cat, who has suddenly taken residence in the empty chair across from James, tail twitching as he stares uncertainly at Jeremy.  
  
James bites down on his lip then clears his throat. “Yeah.”  
  
“You’re still you, then,” Richard declares firmly.  
  
“You’re not going to suddenly leave us to, I don’t know, star in a Broadway musical, are you?” Jeremy asks, eyes narrowed as if he were actually unsure.  
  
James huffs a laugh. “No.”  
  
“Start listening to Lady Gaga?”  
  
“Lady who?”  
  
Jeremy snorts. “Honestly, Slow…. Never mind.”  
  
James reaches his right hand out in front of him, chin still poking uncomfortably into his other arm, and traces his finger in invisible patterns across the surface. “This conversation didn’t go nearly so well when I had it with Colin the other day,” he mumbles.  
  
When no explanation is forthcoming, Jeremy has to ask. “What happened, May?”  
  
“Not – nothing specific. He listened, he nodded, he looked slightly horrified, but said he was fine. He – but – he didn’t stick around much longer, though.”  
  
“Give him time, mate,” Richard suggests.  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“He – he the only one you’ve told? I mean, other than Sarah?”  
  
“Told Oz. Not – he called, to tell me about this wine he found he thought I would like, and it was a couple of days after Sarah left, and I just…. I had to tell someone. Knew he wouldn’t…judge, or be scared of being in the same room with me.”  
  
“Not your family?”  
  
James shakes his head quickly.  
  
“They love you, James. They’ll still love you.”  
  
“I know. I just don’t know what they’ll say about the certainty of no more grandchildren.” Even as he says it, he knows it’s ridiculous.  
  
“I think they’ve probably already given up on that,” Jeremy teases.  
  
James nods at the table then finally sits up. “I’d appreciate it if we could keep this between us. For now.” He’s trying to be adamant, in control, but he can feel himself begin to tear up. He bites his lip again, but it doesn’t help. He presses his palms flat against the tabletop, preparing to push himself up, and away, but a muffled sob escapes his lips before he can disappear. Burying his face in his hands, he concentrates on breathing steadily and holding back the cresting wave of emotions.  
  
“Mate, I – I really want to hug you,” Richard murmurs.  
  
And James finds himself really wanting to be hugged. If he’d felt like this a few months ago, he’d have wrapped his arms loosely around Sarah and she’d have squeezed him tightly in return and let him bury his face in her hair. Her hair always smelled like strawberries; he’d bought some recently – he’d had a French red wine he suspected they’d pair excellently with – but he hadn’t been able to eat them. One whiff of that aroma, and hurting her was all he could think about.  
  
“Quickly,” he mutters.  
  
With a quiet laugh, Richard gets up from the table and takes the couple of steps to James’s chair. It’s an awkward hug – it’s not really a hug at all, honestly, with Richard standing and James still sitting, Richard’s arm curved around James’ shoulders, his other hand resting where James’ shoulder meets his neck, cheek pressed against James’ hair – but it feels good to be held. He closes his eyes and allows himself to enjoy it.  
  
Soon – too soon, and it’s probably because James told him to be quick about it, or because he knows how James is about too much physical contact, or maybe just because Richard has had enough – Richard pulls back and straightens. “You all right?” he asks quietly.  
  
“Will be. I….” He glances at Jeremy to include him in what he’s about to say. “Thank you.”  
  
“No problem, mate.”  
  
“But now,” he says, standing for real this time and swiping his hand across his eyes, “I need to sleep.”  
  
“Yeah. Me, too. Spare bed made up?” It is, it always is, and Richard knows it, but James just nods. “All right then. See you in the morning, James. Jezza,” he says, patting the other man on the shoulder as he walks past. They exchange a look that James doesn’t quite understand, but Jeremy nods.  
  
“Walk me to the door, Slow?”  
  
James raises an eyebrow but inclines his head in agreement.  
  
“You’ll be careful driving?” he asks, needlessly, as he waits for Jeremy to tie his shoes.  
  
“The flat’s not far. But, yes, Mum.” Jeremy finishes tying his shoes and stands. James finds himself unable to tilt his head back and look at the other man’s eyes and wishing, not for the first time, that he had his curtain of hair to hide behind. “That isn’t going to be a problem, is it?” Jeremy asks in a low mutter, nodding his head in the direction of the kitchen.  
  
James crosses his arms over his chest and frowns. “Is my being gay going to be a problem? Are you going to make it one?” What was this? He’d seemed fine, just a minute ago, but…. Was he just following Richard’s lead? Unable to show his true self in front of their mate?  
  
Fingers curl tightly around James’ bicep, and he resists the urge to jerk away. “Not that, May. I meant Richard.”  
  
James shakes his head in confusion.  
  
“You fancy him.”  
  
“I – what?”  
  
“When he hugged you. It’s obvious. I don’t think he noticed – he couldn’t see your face – but I did.”  
  
James ducks his head, but he knows Jeremy has seen the flush on his cheeks. He can’t deny it. But he’s also angry. “My being attracted to Richard isn’t a new thing.” He lifts his head and sets his jaw. Takes a deep breath. “And neither is my being attracted to you. And I resent the implication that just because I’m no longer living a lie, that will suddenly become a problem.”  
  
Jeremy blinks twice then sputters, “You’re attracted to  **me**?”  
  
“It’s not something I’m proud of.”  
  
Jeremy grins, and James’ flush darkens. “Why?”  
  
James stuffs his hands in his pockets. “No. I’m not doing this. Your ego knows no bounds as it is, Clarkson. And I don’t intend to give you any more ammunition.”  
  
“I wouldn’t use that to take the piss, James.”  
  
“You would.”  
  
Jeremy smiles sheepishly. “All right. I would. But in a nice way.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“And I didn’t mean, about your…you know…being a problem…. I just don’t want you hurt.”  
  
“You’re both married. And straight. And it wouldn’t work out, anyway. I’ve never considered it even within the realm of possibility.”  
  
“Can’t say it’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard,” Jeremy says, twisting his mouth in thought. “I wouldn’t always have to hire someone to fix things.”  
  
“You’d always be yelling at me to ‘stop droning on and on and being boring, Slow.’”  
  
Jeremy shakes his head and smiles almost shyly. “Nah. I don’t hate it nearly as much as I pretend. Why do you think I ask you so many questions? If I don’t like listening to you talk?”  
  
“Because you like yelling at me to shut up?”  
  
“Maybe a bit.”  
  
“Maybe a lot.”  
  
“All right.”  
  
Both men snort quietly, then James asks, “Was that it? Was that what Hammond asked you to talk to me about? With the….” He points two fingers at his own eyes then at Jeremy’s, pantomiming some sort of communication with eye contact.  
  
“No. Like I said, I don’t think he knows.”  
  
“Then what…?”  
  
Before James can get the sentence out, Jeremy’s fingers are buried in the hair at the back of James’ head, and the other man’s lips are pressed against his forehead. Jeremy’s lips are chapped, but they’re warm and surprisingly comforting.  
  
“What…?” James tries when Jeremy pulls back. “How did you get ‘kiss May on the forehead’ from that look?!”  
  
Jeremy shrugs. “I improvised.”  
  
James drops his forehead against Jeremy’s shoulder and rubs against the soft fabric of his shirt. “Ew, Clarkson, you’ve given me the lurgy.”  
  
Jeremy chuckles fondly and takes the bait, wrapping his arms loosely around James’ waist. James allows his hands to curve around Clarkson’s hips and turns his head until his nose is buried in the taller man’s neck.  
  
“I like this new, gay, touchy-feely James,” Jeremy remarks quietly.  
  
“This will not be a common occurrence,” James grumbles. “I’ve had a rough day.” Jeremy smells nice, like tobacco and mild sweat and the same soap he always uses, and James inhales once deeply before pulling away, neatly filing away his emotions once again.  
  
“I’d better be going. See you at the airport, then?”  
  
James winces. “Fuck. I forgot.”  
  
“Forgot what?”  
  
“The next time I see you two. We’ll be stuck together in America.”  
  
“Good job this went all right then.” Jeremy chuckles.  
  
“Fuck you.”  
  
Jeremy’s eyes twinkle evilly. “Oh, you wish, May.”  
  
“I can tell already I’m going to regret this. Go home, you spanner.”  
  
With a grin, Jeremy blows a kiss at James as he backs out the door. “Sweet dreams, Slow.”


	2. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James continues dealing with coming out while in America.

James is grateful that it’s dark when they get to their Virginian chalet, and that Jeremy isn’t with them. He’d told Richard how he felt – about both men – whilst they were eating breakfast the morning after he’d come out to them. He couldn’t keep it from one of them when the other knew. Plus, knowing Jeremy, he’d give it away soon enough. And as embarrassing as it was to say it, he’d rather Richard found out from him.  
  
But he’s tired now, and not in the mood to discuss his personal life or anything else really, so he declines Richard’s offer of a beer and cigarette on the back porch and slips into bed.  
  
The next morning, after the cameras film them “discovering” the racetrack in their back garden, the crew disappears to set up near the track, leaving the three men to finish their breakfast.  
  
Jeremy stands behind James as the other two men eat, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other. James tilts his head back and regards the man behind him with a sad smile.  
“Back bothering you already?”  
  
Jeremy rubs at his face. “Still sore from the plane,” he answers, voice muffled behind his hand. “And that bloody mattress in there.”  
  
“I thought mine was quite soft.”  
  
“As was mine,” Jeremy groans, finally uncovering his face. “But that was exactly what I didn’t need.”  
  
Jeremy doesn’t want his pity, James knows that. And he’d tease the other man, but he’s not really in the mood this morning. He’s on edge, nervous, and while he knows it has something to do with his…revelations…of late, even he’s not sure what the problem is, exactly.  
  
Jeremy swallows a couple of pills with his coffee then sets the mug next to James on the table. James leans back in his chair, eyes closed, enjoying the sun on his face, and listens to his friends talk.  
  
“…You just wait ‘til your girls are teenagers, Hammond,” Jeremy is arguing, “and some ASBO is revving his motorcycle in your driveway. You’ll understand.”  
  
“No, see. It all depends on who’s riding the bike. You can’t lump them all together. Say it was someone like May. I mean, sure, he’s got his own set of problems….”  
  
“First one being his fancying  **you** ,” Jeremy mutters under his breath.  
  
James opens one eye and peers up at Jeremy. The other man grins down at him and shrugs. With a shake of his head and a small sigh, James closes his eye again and tries to relax.  
  
“…but I bet James was very gentlemanly as a teenager,” Richard continues. “And  **he**  likes bikes.”  
  
“May also likes trains and Lego and  **men** , Hammond, so I don’t think he’s the best example.”  
  
Richard makes a groan of frustration. “My point still stands. Not everyone who likes motorcycles is automatically bad news.”  
  
“Sorry, Hammond, but you and your ‘go ugly early’ method of ‘ **dating** ’ are not really the person I want to take advice from on this matter.” Jeremy leans forward then, hand on James’ shoulder, and reaches for his coffee.  
  
James can’t help it when his shoulders tense, shrugging them up near his ears. He expects Jezza to let go once he’s got his drink, but the other man merely takes a sip, sets the cup back down and stands, hand still on James’ shoulder.  
  
Perhaps trying to ease James’ discomfort – and James knows he’s noticed, knows he can tell – Jeremy moves his hands until he has one on each shoulder and squeezes lightly.  
  
James gives him until the count of five, then he grunts, “Hands off, Clarkson.”  
  
Jeremy chuckles and leans in closer, breath hot on the back of his neck as he says, “C’mon, James. I thought we needn’t do this anymore.”  
  
“I don’t know why you would think that.” James squirms away from Jeremy’s hands, picks up his mug and heads through the doors to the kitchen, heart pounding loudly in his chest.  
  
Dirty dishes from the night before litter the worktop. James plugs the sink and turns on the hot water, squirting a dollop of washing-up liquid into the mix. He keeps his head down, watching the water level rise and the bubbles grow, instead of looking out the window where he knows Jeremy and Richard are talking about him.  
  
James can hear the door shut loudly and steels himself. Jeremy takes a seat on a stool at the counter and leans forward, elbows on the counter. “I’m sorry,” he says finally.  
  
“Are you only saying that because Hammond told you to?”  
  
“No. Well, yes. But I mean it.”  
  
“And what are you sorry for?” James picks up a dinner plate and begins to scrub off the crusted-on food.  
  
“For making you upset,” Jeremy answers with conviction.  
  
“And why am I upset?” James curses softly when he loses his grip on the dish and it tumbles into the water, hitting the bottom of the sink with a soft clink.  
  
“I – honestly, James,” Jeremy sighs, “I’m not sure.”  
  
“And there’s the problem.”  
  
“I thought - now that you weren’t hiding, I thought you didn’t have to worry about…. About slipping. I thought it meant, you know…. I mean, I know what you said the other day, but I thought it would mean, that I could touch you occasionally – when it’s just the three of us – and you wouldn’t…you wouldn’t push me away. I’m not asking for a fucking cuddle, James, just the right to be bloody affectionate sometimes.”  
  
James doesn’t respond for a moment, gathering his thoughts, the only sounds the squeak of slippery dishes between his fingers and the gentle splash of the water.  
  
“James. We have people to fucking wash up after us. Please set the dishes down and talk to me.”  
  
James finishes washing the dish in his hand and rinses it out under the faucet before setting it in the dish drainer. He wipes his hands off on the towel and turns his body toward Jeremy. Hands braced against the edge of the worktop, he stares down at the marbled top as he speaks softly.  
  
“That’s not why I am the way I am. It’s not – I haven’t been  **pretending**  to dislike being touched this whole time, just so I could hide my attraction to men.”  
  
“But it’s part of it.” Jeremy says this with conviction so intense that James has to lift his head. “James,” he begins, reaching his hand in James’ direction, stopping just before he makes contact. “You let me hold you. You instigated it. Yeah, it was the most bumbling attempt at human contact I’ve ever seen,” James can’t help but snort a quiet laugh at that, “but you asked for it. You’ve never done anything like that before. And when Hammond hugged you…yeah, I could see that you fancied him, but…Christ, you relaxed, James!”  
  
“I told you, that was….”  
  
“No, James. At Hammond’s side in the hospital, when we were both devastated and terrified that we’d never get our Hamster back, we cried together, you and I. And, even then, the most comfort you’d accept from me was an arm around your shoulders. I’m not trying to make you someone you’re not, but…around us, you can relax, James. We know, and it doesn’t change how we feel about you.”  
  
“And what if this is how I am, Jeremy? I didn’t used to be, as a boy. But what if I’ve made myself this way? And I can’t claw myself back out?” James can feel tears pricking at his eyes. He won’t wipe them away, won’t draw attention to them.  
  
But Jeremy notices, his mouth softening. “I don’t believe that’s true. I think if you want to change, you can. Don’t get me wrong. I think you’re…fantastic,” he chooses one of James’ favorite words, and the pause makes James wonder whether that was intentional, “the way you are. And, Christ, I’m beginning to sound like a bloody self-help book.”  
  
James smirks then, grateful for the bit of levity. “You’re such a fucking girl, Jezza.” He tries to ignore the slight sniff that follows his words.  
  
Jeremy doesn’t have a witty rejoinder in return, and James finds himself hoping – strangely – that this isn’t the end of the gay jokes or the “not a proper bloke” quips.  
  
“Can we drop this? For now? Maybe go drive some cars really fast?”  
  
“Yes,” Jeremy says with enthusiasm. “Well, ‘drive,’ anyway. In your case, I’m not sure about fast.” Well, that’s all right then. Certainly not done with the Captain Slow jokes. Not sure the world could survive that.  
  
\--  
  
Richard is still acting a little ‘Miami Vice’ during their walk back to their chalet, pilfered protective glasses perched on his nose, firing imaginary guns at squirrels and one worryingly plump raccoon. James lags behind, hands in his pockets, dreading more conversation about him, more attempts to drag out his feelings.  
  
For all their proclamations of blokeishness, his mates were right birds sometimes.  
  
James lifts his head when he hears a strange thump and then a moaned curse from Jeremy. “Ow, ow, ow. Fuck. Ow.”  
  
James quickens his pace and catches up. Richard’s got an arm around Jeremy’s back, and the other man is leaning on him heavily.  
  
“Jezza?” James asks quietly.  
  
“Stepped in a fucking hole. Back was feeling a little better, but now…. Christ.”  
  
James glances down at the ground. “Looks like a gopher hole, mate.”  
  
“Don’t really care what kind of fucking hole it is, James,” Jeremy says through gritted teeth.  
  
“C’mon, mate. Let’s get you back where you can have a lie-down.” Richard begins to walk and Jeremy goes with, movements slow and shaky and obviously painful.  
  
“You really are in pain, aren’t you?” Without waiting for an answer, James slips behind Richard. “You go ahead. Find his pills and make an ice pack. I’ve got him.”  
  
“Y’sure?” Richard asks, even as he moves aside and helps position Jeremy against James.  
  
“Yeah. The oaf’ll knock you over and then you’ll both be broken.”  
  
Richard grins and jogs off toward the chalet.  
  
“Let’s go, Jez.” James reaches behind him to grab Jeremy’s hand and move it from where it rests uncertainly against his back to grip his shoulder. The skin is warm below his, damp with sweat from the heat and the racing.  
  
It’s slow-going, their trip up to the house, nearly every step accompanied by a grunt of pain from Jeremy or quiet encouragement from James.  
  
When they finally make it through the back door, they’re greeted by Richard, a look of worry on his face. “Mate, you look like you’re really in a bad way. Are you gonna be able to drive to New York in the morning?”  
  
“I’ll be fine,” Jeremy mutters.  
  
“Couldn’t find your pills.”  
  
“Side pocket of my bag.”  
  
Richard nods, handing the ice pack to James and hurrying down the hall.  
  
“No, this way, Jezza,” James murmurs when Jeremy tries to steer them to follow.  
  
“But my room’s that way.”  
  
“I know, and you already said the bed was too soft for your back. It’s the floor for you.”  
  
“I’ll never be able to get up.”  
  
“You’ll feel better in a bit, and I’ll help you. And Hammond, Wilman, hell, we’ll rope in the camera crew if that’s what it takes.”  
  
“It’ll be like the North Pole all over again,” Jeremy groans painfully as James helps lower him to the floor. Jeremy snorts a pained laugh. “You just want to get inside me and try to rock me up.”  
  
James flushes but chuckles over Richard’s, “Ew, mate! That’s disgusting” from the doorway.  
  
“No,” James begins, dropping to the floor next to his friend. “Will gladly deflate your tires, though.”  
  
“Ow. Don’t make me laugh.”  
  
Richard crosses the room to Jeremy and drops a couple of pills into his hand. Before he can hand him the cup of water, Jeremy has already dry-swallowed them in one gulp.  
  
“Bring me a beer, Hammond?”  
  
“You supposed to drink with those?” Richard asks with a frown.  
  
“No, but one beer won’t hurt me.”  
  
“It’s shit American beer,” James chimes in.  
  
“Ugh. Maybe it  **will**  kill me.”  
  
“We have wine.”  
  
“James! You lifesaver.” When Richard doesn’t move, Jeremy looks up at him with a scowl. “Well?”  
  
Richard grins. “Well, what?”  
  
Jeremy grumbles, “Will you bring me a glass of wine? Please?”  
  
“Sure, mate. Want one, James?”  
  
“Yes, please. And bring a straw with Jeremy’s.”  
  
“I’m not five, James.” Jeremy complains.  
  
“No, you’re not. Five year olds have better manners. Anyway, it will be easier for you to drink it if you don’t have to tip your head back.”  
  
Jeremy begins the slow, painful process of lying on his back, until James clutches at his arm. “No, no, don’t lie down. Can you lean forward a bit?”  
  
“Yeah. Why?”  
  
James slides along the floor and sits, cross-legged, behind Jeremy. “You said once that when your back is bothering you, Francie gives you a backrub. Right?”  
  
“Yeah?” Jeremy answers warily. “But what does that…?”  
  
As Jeremy is talking, James tugs on his shirt until it slips out of his jeans.  
  
“What the fuck are you doing, May?!” James can see the muscles under Jeremy’s shirt tense, but he doesn’t bolt. And he doesn’t tell him to stop.  
  
The skin on Jeremy’s back is even warmer than that of his hands. “Francie’s not here, you’re in pain, and I thought…” He swallows. “I thought I could do this for you.”  _I’m trying, Jeremy. And I’m sorry about pushing you away earlier._  
  
“Francie’s not here to give me a blow job, either; are you gonna take care of that for me, too?”  
  
Without thinking, James reaches up and cuffs Jeremy round the ear.  
  
“Ow,” Jeremy complains, automatically, though James knows he didn’t hit him hard enough to really hurt. “That – that was too far. I shouldn’t have said that.”  
  
James chuckles lightly and presses his thumbs into Jeremy’s lower back. When the other man moans, he asks, “Right there?”  
  
“Yeah. Fuck.”  
  
“It was fine, Jeremy. You deserved to be smacked for it, but it was fine. I, uh,” he’s glad he can’t see Jeremy’s face, “I doubt I’d be any good at it, anyway.”  
  
That’s right when Richard walks back from the kitchen to the living area, drinks in hand. “You’ve never,  **ever** , James?”  
  
James ducks his head. “Told you, I was…I hid that part of me away. I wasn’t out there…meeting men in alleys or anything.”  
  
James tries to slide his hands further up Jeremy’s back, but the shirt prohibits his progress. Every time he pushes it up and out of his way, it slides right back down. “If I ask you to take off your shirt, can you do so without any rude comments?”  
  
“Well, that takes all the fun out of it, James,” Jeremy answers, but he unbuttons his shirt then slips it off and onto the floor. Jeremy groans, the sound muffled as if he has one lip between his teeth, as James’ fingers press into his warm skin.  
  
“That all right?” James lifts his head automatically, even though he won’t be able to see much of Jeremy’s reaction from this angle, and is overwhelmed by smooth, flawless, pale skin, the gentle sloping of Jeremy’s back and shoulders. He’s seen the other man before, without a shirt, but he’s always been careful to avert his eyes.  
  
He makes sure to do so now, concentrates on where his hands meet Jeremy’s back, wills the flush to leave his face.  
  
He really should be doing this with Jeremy lying on his stomach, but he doesn’t want to make the other man more uncomfortable than he probably is. And he doesn’t want to straddle Jeremy’s bare back, put his hands on his skin, and know he’s allowed nothing more.  
  
“You’re – Christ, James – you’re really fucking good at this.”  
  
James chuffs an embarrassed laugh out his nose, but it’s not the first time he’s heard that; the only difference this time is the deep timber of the voice.  
  
Richard slides to the floor next to them, back against the sofa, and sets their drinks on the coffee table. James doesn’t look at him, instead continues to watch his fingers knead and stroke the tense muscles of Jeremy’s back.  
  
“So,” Richard begins softly after the room is quiet for a moment, “you’re 47, and you’ve never really had sex.”  
  
“Almost 48. And, thanks, Rich. I appreciate it being laid out like that. As if I didn’t already know.”  
  
“I can attest,” Jeremy begins, eyes closed, voice muffled with his chin against his chest, “that the man has talented hands. On that front, he’ll do splendidly.”  
  
Both James and Richard burst out laughing, James’ hands falling to his knees until Jeremy protests loudly at their loss. This just makes James laugh harder.  
  
Finally, Richard manages, “I didn’t mean it like that, mate. I just, you never, not even at university or anything?”  
  
“Nope.” James pulls one hand away from Jeremy’s body to grab his glass and take a big gulp of wine.  
  
“That – that makes me really sad.”  
  
James shrugs. “Can’t miss what you’ve never had.”  
  
“That’s such a load of bollocks, James. You’ve, you know, you’ve done stuff. Right?”  
  
“Hammond,” James begins slowly, as if talking to a very slow child, “I think we’ve pretty well established that I haven’t.”  
  
“Not with other blokes. I mean, you know, you’ve…tried stuff.”  
  
“You’ve stuck your fingers up your arse, James,” Jeremy butts in, frustrated, “is what he’s trying to say.”  
  
Without thinking, James pulls his hands away from Jeremy and looks over at Richard. The other man’s hands are together, his thumb rubbing along the smooth metal of one of his rings. Hammond nods once in agreement.  
  
James blinks once. Twice. Pinches the bridge of his nose between two fingers. “No.”  
  
“James!” Richard exclaims. Jeremy doesn’t say anything, just turns his body with a grunt to see James’ face. “You’ve never been…curious?”  
  
James moves to sit against the couch next to Richard and crosses his arms over his chest. “Of course I have been.”  
  
“Then…why not?”  
  
“He didn’t want to ruin the illusion,” Jeremy answers softly.  
  
James glances at him and smiles slightly. “It’s easier to be oblivious.”  
  
“It’s harder to convince yourself you’re not a gayist with a plastic toy up your arse,” Jeremy says with a chuckle.  
  
“You don’t have to like men to enjoy….” Richard trails off with a blush, taking a quick sip of his wine.  
  
“Hammond?” Jeremy asks, and James knows he’d be leaning forward in anticipation if his back weren’t still sore. “Have you…?”  
  
“Mindy and I have a very fulfilling sexual relationship, okay?!”  
  
James can’t help but ask, quietly, “What’s it like?”  
  
“Oh, God,” Jeremy groans, but James notices he isn’t telling them to shut up.  
  
“It….” Richard chuckles. “It’s really incredible, mate. Being taken like….” He trails off and clears his throat uncomfortably. Jeremy makes a pained sound that seems half amusement-half disgust.  
  
James closes his eyes and, in his mind, begins systematically assembling the Airfix Spitfire, separating each piece from the sprue, then putting together the propeller, assembling the cockpit. Touching Jeremy had already left his arousal just simmering under the surface, and now with these images Richard has very nearly conjured up….  
  
After a moment, he lets his mind come back to the present, to find Richard not horrified as he’d suspected, but rather smiling indulgently at him.  
  
“Got that all out of your system, James?”  
  
“I wasn’t – I didn’t….”  
  
“No? Well, maybe you should.” He shrugs.  
  
“You…want me to think about…to  **imagine**  you…doing that?” he finishes lamely.  
  
“Clearly you need some motivation.” He holds up one hand to ward off James’ protest. “Fine, yeah, maybe not a good idea. But maybe, you know, a film? Try some things, figure out what you, what you like. You like research. Think of it like that.”  
  
“Hammond, I….” James takes a deep breath and tries to remember that his friends want to help him. “I appreciate the advice, but…. I’ll be fine.” He hopes he sounds more certain than he is.  
  
“I understand.” Richard grins devilishly. “You gotta wrap your brain around it before you can wrap your hand around it.”  
  
James rolls his eyes and shoves gently at Richard’s shoulder.  
  
“Speaking of hands,” Jeremy says impatiently. “I think you’re forgetting something.”  
  
\--  
  
James answers the knock on his hotel room door with bare feet, rolled-up socks in his hand. “Hammond,” he greets with a slight nod of his head, opening the door to allow the other man in. “I’ll be ready in just a minute.”  
  
“Izzat what you’re wearing?”  
  
James looks down at his stripey jumper (blue and white this time) and worn jeans. “Yeah. Why?”  
  
“No reason. So, all stretched out, then?”  
  
“W-what?” James sputters.  
  
Richard’s face is blank for a moment as he rewinds what he has just said in his head and realizes where James’ mind had gone. “N-no,” he laughs. “I meant the yoga.”  
  
“Oh.” James sighs in relief, the sound finishing in a groan of annoyance. “Little sore, actually. It’s harder than it looks, and I am much too old, and much too full of beer and pies, for that.” He sits down on the edge of the bed, pulls his right foot up to his knee with a grunt, and begins to pull on his sock.  
  
“I don’t know about that. You could do it if you wanted. It’d be good for you. And, you never know, maybe….”  
  
“Mate,” James interrupts, trying to keep his voice calm. “If you’re going to tell me that I’ll find it easier to get a man if I lose weight, I….”  
  
“Not what I was going to say at all.” Richard plops down next to him, the bed bouncing a little under his exuberance. “I was just thinking, maybe you could go back and get a ride on that personal helicopter thing, after all.”  
  
“I think that ship has sailed, so to speak.” His foot drops to the floor with a thump and he struggles to lift the other around the dull ache in his calf.  
  
“James,” Richard begins with a laugh, “budge up and let me put your bloody sock on, you invalid.” His hand drops to James’ knee with a friendly squeeze, and James pulls away quickly. Too quickly, as the action pulls at stomach muscles not used for years until today.  
  
“Oh, cock,” he mutters, arm draped over his protesting belly.  
  
“James,” Richard repeats, setting his hand again on James’ knee and looking at him intently. James remains still, glances between Richard’s hand and Richard’s eyes. “Are you always going to be running this hot and cold, mate?”  
  
“What – what do you mean?” With a grunt of effort, James manages to lean forward enough to slip his toes into his sock and pull it up the length of his foot. If it means that Richard has to remove his hand from his knee as a result, so be it.  
  
“You know exactly what I mean. Giving Jeremy a backrub one minute, then getting all tetchy the next because I touched your knee.”  
  
James sighs, rubbing at the side of his nose with his hand and looking down at the floor. “Honestly, Hammond? Probably. For a while, anyway. And I realize that makes me a stupid git.”  
  
“No, mate. Okay, well…yeah,” Richard pushes at James’ shoulder and James finally looks at him, grateful to see Hammond’s blinding smile. “It does, a bit, but…. We’ll put up with it.”  
  
“But for how long?”  
  
Richard shrugs. “We’ll just annoy it out of you.” With the tip of his index finger, he begins to repeatedly poke at James’ arm. The touch is mildly annoying, but it’s nothing compared to the lack of rhythm involved. It isn’t long before James can’t take it anymore and reaches out and snatches his friend’s hand out of the air. He holds it for a long moment before finally releasing it with a squeeze and a quirk of his lips.  
  
“Now, c’mon,” Richard teases. “Jeremy said he’d meet us downstairs in ten minutes. And you’ve still got to put your bloody shoes on.”  
  
\--  
  
James is the last to exit through the hotel’s revolving doors and into the bright New York sunshine. Ahead of him, Richard sidles up to Jeremy on the pavement, and tugs on his shirtsleeve until the taller man leans his head down. James can see Richard say something, but he’s not close enough to hear it over the busy noises of the street.  
  
Jeremy’s answering bellow is plenty loud, however. “Oh, come on. It’ll be fine!”  
  
In the back seat of the taxi, James spends the ride attempting to check his email on his phone, but, as ever, he can’t get the damn thing to work. Richard is restless beside him, knee bouncing erratically until James has to murmur a warning “Hammond.”  
  
“Sorry, mate. I don’t – you try sitting between the two of you baboons. I feel like a bloody sardine.”  
  
“Wait,” Jeremy begins, and just from the tone of his voice, James knows what’s coming. “How can you be a sardine if we’re baboons? Are we a tin of baboons? A sardine-baboon hybrid?”  
  
“No, Jeremy. It’s…. Oh, never mind.”  
  
“Stop mixing your metaphors, Hamster.”  
  
James chuffs a quiet laugh and leans in to ask Richard, again, how to check his email when the taxi pulls up to the curb and Jeremy leans forward with a wad of that ugly, boring American money.  
  
Jeremy pulls open the heavy door and waves James through ahead of him. “I still can’t figure out that email thing,” James is complaining as he passes him, his voice growing louder to compensate for the loud noise of the bar.  
  
Richard and Jeremy step in after him, and it isn’t until the door is shutting behind him that James actually lifts his head and takes a look at his surroundings.  
  
When Richard had called his room earlier and told him they were all going out to a bar, he hadn’t been expecting it to be like his local. But it takes only a few seconds to realize how different this truly is: from the waiters’ tight fitting t-shirts and the group of young men standing closer together than strictly necessary at the pool table to the pair of middle-aged men holding hands at the corner table and the truly awful pop music video playing on the television.  
  
James turns on his heel and brushes past Jeremy, flinching at the contact of Clarkson’s chest against his arm, and pushes open the door without a word. Once outside, he can feel his skin clammy with sweat and fear and anger, the cool air cold against his skin. He begins to walk, eyes on his shoes, ignoring his friends shouting his name.  
  
It’s Richard who catches up to him first, grabbing his arm, and saying “mate” in a breathless voice. He shakes the hand off his arm with vehemence and mutters, “Leave me alone.”  
  
“No, but….”  
  
James stops then, so suddenly that a young woman treads on his heel. He ignores her apology (though it had sounded rather half-hearted at best, and he does suppose it’s his fault for stopping) and instead stares down at Hammond. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Clarkson catching up, pushing his way through determined locals with a glare. “Hammond. Leave me the fuck alone. Just. Please.”  
  
Richard nods. “I understand.” As James shifts his body, he feels a quick squeeze on his arm and hears Richard’s quiet, “I’m sorry, mate.”  
  
\--  
  
James isn’t sure how long he’s walked - head down, hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched - probably about five blocks, when he finally realizes. He has no idea where he is. Even worse, he has no idea where he’s come from, not the location of the bar nor the hotel, not even the name. He’d followed Jezza to the hotel, hadn’t been paying attention in the cab….  
  
“I’m bloody useless,” he mutters. “A giant fucking cock.” He continues walking. He won’t call Richard, or Jeremy. He should call one of the crew, or Andy, but they’ll want to know why he isn’t with the others – why he isn’t with his  **mates**  - and he’s too distracted, still too angry, to invent a convincing lie.  
  
After a couple more blocks, he turns off the pavement and into a small park. The day is pleasant, and there are lots of people – families, couples, a pair of teens on rollerblades – but no one disturbs him or even gives him a second glance. He likes that about this place. There’s nothing worse than being asked for an autograph in the midst of a strop.  
  
He wanders aimlessly down a path through the park and finally settles at the base of a tall tree. He sits silently, knees up to his chest, arms crossed over his knees. It’s not until he’s relaxed, no longer intent on putting footsteps between himself and that place, that he realizes he’s taken nothing but shallow, incomplete breaths for minutes.  
  
He concentrates on breathing deeply, listens to the birds singing and watches someone’s hyper toddler running back and forth between his father and a tree, squealing the entire time. It reminds him somehow of Hammond’s girls, even though they haven’t been at that stage in years, and that thought reminds him that Willow and Izzy and the Clarkson brood are the closest he’s ever going to get to having that, and how he’s fucking ruined everything. If he could have just been satisfied with what he had, left well enough alone, he could have had that. He’s the only one who would have known he was pretending.  
  
A flash of movement to his left startles him and he turns his head to see the long, long shadow of someone’s legs. He closes his eyes to delay the inevitable, but it’s only a moment before he can sense Jeremy’s lumbering form drop to the ground at his right and Richard’s smaller, more graceful body sit carefully at his left.  
  
“Lost, May?” Jeremy asks, and James knows if he were looking, he’d see that stupid, brilliant grin on his face.  
  
Without opening his eyes, James answers, “Yes, I am. Did you follow me here just to take the piss? Remind me that I have no sense of direction? That I’m slow and pedantic? A middle-aged queer with no one to love him but his cat?” He opens his eyes and stares at Jeremy, but his voice is deceptively calm when he continues, “Because I actually do know all of that.”  
  
“Um, guys?” Richard pipes up nervously. “Maybe let’s take this back to the hotel, yeah?”  
  
He curls his hand into a fist, short nails digging into the palm of his hand. “No, let’s do this here. If we do this in public, then maybe I won’t punch either of you in the fucking face.”  
  
“Mate, I’m really sorry. It was my idea. Don’t be mad at Jezza.”  
  
“You thought of the idea, Hammond,” Jeremy argues, “but I was the one who took it seriously. I was the one who looked gay bars up on the internet. I tried to find one that wasn’t scary!” he exclaims, as if that helps his case.  
  
“Jeremy.” James rests his chin on top of his arms and takes a deep breath. “I’m sure this must seem hilarious to you. But it’s my life.”  
  
“I….” Jeremy reaches out, hesitantly touching James’ knee with the tips of his fingers. “It wasn’t meant to be mean. I mean, yeah, we laughed about the idea when Richard had it, but that wasn’t…. I thought you might…meet someone.”  
  
James sighs a bitter laugh out his nose and ducks his head, pressing his eyes against his arm. He lifts his head only at Richard’s anxious utterance of his name. “I know I’m not the most open person.” He tugs at the grass between himself and Hammond, dropping the vibrant green blades back onto the ground as he speaks. “…And I know I’ve lied a lot about who I am, but…. I still thought you knew me better than that.” He looks up: first at Richard’s wide, guilty eyes, then at Jeremy’s, which are sad yet still defiant. “That both of you did. I – I can’t…. I can’t have meaningless sex with someone I’ve just met. I know it works for a lot of people, and bully for them. But I can’t. Especially,” he swallows hard. “Especially not with this.”  
  
Jeremy sighs loudly, and James winces internally, preparing for protest. “You’re right. I – I was thinking about myself, about what I’d need in your…your position. I’d want the anonymity; I’d want it to be impersonal.”  
  
“I hadn’t thought about it,” Richard says. “How you don’t like to let people close, how that’d make this even, even more difficult.”  
  
They’re all quiet for a long moment, and James’ eyes are caught by the toddler and his family packing up their picnic and leaving, the little boy riding high on his dad’s shoulders. “I wanted that,” he whispers.  
  
Both his friends’ heads turn to see what he means.  
  
“And I could have had it, with Sarah. Five, six years ago. It wouldn’t have been too late. Thought about it a lot, but….”  
  
“Was it because you knew you wouldn’t be being true to yourself?” Richard asks.  
  
“I think maybe that was part of it. Deep down, maybe I knew it’d all fall apart eventually, and I couldn’t destroy anyone else’s life if I could avoid it.”  
  
“James?”  
  
James turns his eyes away from the happy family and to Richard. “Hmm?”  
  
“I haven’t said this, and I should have: I’m really proud of you.”  
  
“For what?”  
  
The other man clears his throat and murmurs, “This – all of it - is really hard. I get that now. It’d be hard for anyone, but…. You could have done the easy thing, and stayed, but you didn’t.”  
  
James chuckles, and it’s strangely the most hopeful sound he’s heard from himself in nearly an hour. “It’s especially hard for me? Is that what you were going to say? Because I’m especially fucked up?”  
  
“Because you’re just special, James,” Jeremy argues gently, smacking James’ knee lightly with the back of his hand.  
  
James rolls his eyes but doesn’t respond.  
  
“You are.”  
  
“Sure, Jeremy.”  
  
“Slow, who else can play a piano concerto one minute then argue the merits of Hydrogen-powered cars the next?”  
  
“Several people, probably.”  
  
“And how many of them hold a world record for the largest Lego house  **and**  the longest Scalextric track?”  
  
“I didn’t do those things by myself, Jez, and….”  
  
“Exactly. Thousands of people across Britain came to help. And why?”  
  
“For the chance to be on telly?”  
  
“Well, yes. But also for the chance to be part of something big. Of something  **you**  devised.”  
  
“I think you’re giving me too much credit for that.”  
  
“Fine. Then I’ll start listing more of your better qualities.” He begins to tick them off on his fingers. “You put up with me for eight days in the Artic, which is bloody amazing; you overcame your fear of heights to drive Death Road; you….”  
  
“Jezza, if the next one is ‘you’re kind to animals,’ I’ll hit you.”  
  
“I said it before, but I’d appreciate it if you’d stop being Mr. Mopey-Trousers and admit it. You’re fantastic, James.”  
  
James can feel his cheeks pinkening, and a smile tugging at his lips. “Now we’ve gone from special to fantastic?”  
  
Richard’s hand lands lightly on his shoulder. “For once, I’ve got to agree with Jezza.” He chuckles. “And you know how I hate to do that.”  
  
“Wouldn’t be my friend if you weren’t.” Jeremy’s eyes flick quickly past him to include Richard when he says that.  
  
“Okay, fine. I’m  **fantastic**. And so special that I’ve managed to crack open the door to my closet just enough to see that it’s pitch black and fucking terrifying out there. Can you tell me something that will stop me from slamming the door shut again and hiding in the corner, curled in the fetal position?”  
  
Jeremy tilts his head to the side as if contemplating. He opens his mouth then closes it again with a quick shake of his head without saying anything, then wipes a hand across weary eyes and exhales loudly. When James has just about given up hope that he’ll be able to say anything encouraging, he finally sits up and holds out his hand, palm down. James looks at him skeptically for a moment before eventually reaching out his own and taking it. Jeremy’s fingers are warm and dry as they curve around his and turn them both sideways, so it’s now part handshake, part handhold. “Hammond?”  
  
Without hesitation, Richard lays his own hand on top of theirs.  
  
“We’re here, James. That’s about all I can say. You need to talk to someone at 2:00 in the morning? Want someone to vet potential boyfriends? You have us.”  
  
Richard nods in agreement.  
  
James drops his chin until his forehead rests on their mass of clasped hands.  
  
“All right?” At James’ nod, Jeremy grins. “Good. Now let’s get back to the hotel. My arse is getting numb.”  
  
“Mr. Mopey Trousers?” Hammond asks with a laugh as they begin to make their way down the path toward the park’s exit.  
  
“Teenage girls,” Jeremy grumbles. “They come up with all sorts of weird things to call you.”  
  
James chuckles quietly as he follows his mates. He isn’t sure he  _is_  a… “Mr. Mopey-Trousers,” at least he doesn’t think he is all the time. But it might help to admit to himself that it isn’t always as bad as it might seem.


	3. Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys go to Syria, and then James tells the Top Gear crew.

“I was the front of the donkey, and I was so irritated by it that I took the donkey costume off halfway through so that people could see it was me.”  
  
“And nobody could tell the difference.” James can just picture an eight-year-old Jez on stage, throwing off his homemade costume – mop of curly hair made even more unruly from the static - and standing with his arms out wide, begging for attention.  
  
“I suppose you were the infant king, were you?”  
  
“I was a shepherd. ‘Cause I had a dressing gown.”  
  
It feels nice to cock about, a little distance – both physical and temporal - between them and his admission. Richard and Jeremy haven’t mentioned it once this trip, or given him any sidelong glances, or stopped abruptly in the middle of a joke. But he’s on edge here, has been since they landed in Iraq. He can’t help but think himself ridiculous – they can’t  _tell_  by looking at him, and he certainly isn’t going to engage in any activity that would get him in trouble (well, he’s with Jeremy and Richard, so there’s always the chance of that, but at least he knows it won’t involve sex). But he still can’t help wishing for his home, and his tea, and his cat.  
  
After a while, only he and Richard are left by the dwindling fire, Richard kept awake by his traitorous bowels, and James by his general discomfort.  
  
“All right, mate?” James asks when Richard sits gingerly next to him, face waxen in the firelight. James’ voice holds nothing but sympathy; it’s usually he who suffers the stomach problems on their international trips.  
  
“Dying,” Richard groans. “I feel so…ugh. I can’t even imagine what I’ll look like on television.”  
  
“Oh, I don’t know. I think you look all right. ‘Cept for that ruddy awful hair, of course.” He’s trying. To let his guard down, sometimes, when it’s just two or three of them. There’s always that fear, of course, of crossing the line, of saying or doing something that he can’t take back, something that permanently changes their dynamic.  
  
Richard smiles wearily. He loves being flirted with, even when it’s just James. “Thanks. You sweet talker, you. Like you’re one to talk about fashionable hair.”  
  
James rubs at his hair, nose wrinkling as he feels the sand and the sweat. “No, I suppose not.” There’s a long pause before he continues, slowly, teasingly, just testing the waters. “I could do, if you wanted. Sweet talk.”  
  
Richard takes it as he’d expected. With a quick grin and a witty – though tired - comeback. “Yeah? What, like my eyes remind you of limpid pools of….”  
  
“Mud. They remind me of mud, not limpid pools of anything.”  
  
“Mud!? That’s not very romantic, mate.”  
  
James shrugs and smiles cheekily. “True, though. Mud or engine oil.”  
  
“Wow, you’re a catch.”  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
“Crap hair and even more crap pickup lines. Still. You’ve got other good qualities.”  
  
“Have I?” He can’t help the flutter in his stomach.  
  
“Yeah. Um, in fact….” Richard takes a quick glance around them.  _He’s not going to…?_  “I was telling my mate about you. His name’s Alex. I know him from art school.”  
  
“And you were telling him about me? Why?”  
  
“I – I thought that, you know, if you wanted, you two could….”  
  
 _Oh. Well…that’s good, then. Hammond shouldn’t be propositioning me._  “You’re trying to set me up with your friend from art school?!”  
  
“I – I, uh, yeah?”  
  
“Hammond.” James sighs and closes his eyes for a moment. “What do Alex and I have in common?”  
  
“Um, well, he likes art and…you like the piano. That’s arty. And, well, I don’t really….”  
  
“I like men, and Alex likes men, so we’ll like each other. Is that about it?”  
  
Richard frowns. “Shit, James. I didn’t – that’s not what I meant. I just thought….”  
  
“I know. And I appreciate it. But, no thank you.”  
  
“All right.” Richard yawns and looks at his watch. “It’s late, James. You should get some sleep.”  
  
James sighs. “M’not really tired.”  
  
“That’s bollocks. What’s the problem?”  
  
He really doesn’t want to unload his insecurities on Hammond, especially not with him feeling poorly, but he knows the little pikey won’t let up. “It’s this place.”  
  
“What about it?”  
  
“It’s – at home, I know I’ll encounter the occasional bigot who thinks ‘faggot’ is an appropriate word to call me in front of my mother or who doesn’t think I should be allowed to marry. But here, Richard.”  
  
“It’s not good?”  
  
“It’s illegal,” he says, almost matter-of-factly.  
  
“I – I really didn’t know that. I mean, yeah, I guess that…I just didn’t know.”  
  
“And I know it’s stupid, me being…I mean, my skin is prickling, Hammond.”  
  
“That might just be the heat.”  
  
James lifts one corner of his mouth in mild amusement before ducking his head and drawing lines in the sand with the tip of his finger. “And it’s not even…it’s not even that I’m pissed off about it. I am, because it’s patently unfair and utterly barbaric, but…. I feel dirty,” he finishes in a whisper.  
  
“That’s just the sand, mate,” Richard says, voice cracking. James lifts his head and smiles. It feels more real this time. “You don’t need me to tell you that you’re not dirty. You  _know_  that.”  
  
“I do.”  
  
“And I – I really don’t know  _what_  to tell you…”  
  
“You don’t have to.”  
  
“…Wait. I want to. I want to help.”  
  
“You have been. Even your horribly misguided attempt to fix me up has helped.”  
  
“Oh, good. Because I can do both ‘horrible’ and ‘misguided.’”  
  
“Along with ‘ambitious’ and ‘rubbish?’”  
  
Richard leans back, hands pressed into the sand. “‘Rubbish’ is my specialty.” As he finishes speaking, his face contorts in pain and he drapes one arm over his stomach. “Oh, God. I’m gonna go…” he waves his hand vaguely in the direction of their ‘loo’, “hopefully for the last time, then try to sleep. You should, too.”  
  
James stands and wipes the sand off his jeans before holding out a hand. Richard takes it and he helps him up, both men groaning faintly.  
  
“Mate?” Richard says quietly.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“I – I think you’ll make some bloke a wonderful husband some day.”  
  
“You think?”  
  
“Yeah. With your spam and beans and your tidy house…. And your cat. I think you should do that.”  
  
“Thanks, Richard. Now, take your plague away from me.”  
  
Richard chuckles. “All right.” He squeezes James’ upper arm. “See you in the morning.”  
  
“Night, Hammond.”  
  
\--  
  
Most of his accident is a blur. He still isn’t sure who was hovering over him when his eyes first opened. At the time, his mind had simply refused to supply the bloke’s name – just like it would later refuse to remind him why he was so hot and sweaty and covered in sand – and now, he just can’t remember that moment clearly enough.  
  
He remembers everything else though, including how it had felt to be so worryingly confused about where he was or why he was there, how he’d still wondered, even then, if this was how Hammond had felt.  
  
The cameramen can’t help sniggering as they set up their equipment for Jeremy and Richard’s “big reveal” outside the hospital, and James has to admit their costumes are funny. But deep down, he can’t help but be disappointed.  
  
“You really are better?” Is that concern he hears in Jeremy’s voice?  
  
“Completely.”  
  
Jeremy points at his covered face. “Who am I?” His hands rest on his hips, elbows jutting out jauntily from his side.  
  
 _One of my best mates._  “You’re a big cock.”  
  
Richard strikes a nearly identical pose. “Who am I?”  
  
“Irritating little…” _gorgeous, brilliant_ … “sod.”  
  
After his friends finish explaining to him “their plan” and the crew prepares to set out on the road again, Jeremy takes charge. “All right, all right. Turn the cameras off.”  
  
“You really all right, mate?” Richard asks, voice muffled but concerned beneath his burka.  
  
James summons up one of his “I know I’m a dope” grins to assuage him and answers, “I’m fine, Hammond. ‘S just a bump.”  
  
They’ll probably mock him for it mercilessly, but he can’t help it. He reaches first to Richard then to Jeremy, pulling the cloth away from each of their faces. “Wanted to see a friendly face,” he mumbles. “That’s all.”  
  
“And we were the closest you could get?” Richard asks, understanding in his voice.  
  
James nods gratefully. “Yeah.”  
  
“Take it easy, James. Yeah?”  
  
James nods, even though he knows he won’t. Can’t.  
  
Satisfied, Richard hesitates for a moment before stepping closer and wrapping his arms around James’ waist. Normally, this would be the cue for James to tense up and pull away, to grouse about someone else’s need for physical contact, but he doesn’t. Instead, he drapes his arms around Richard’s shoulders and returns the hug for a moment, forehead dropped to rest on top of Hammond’s head.  
  
He remembers the nearly identical looks of worry on his friend’s faces just after he regained consciousness, confused though he was at the time. He remembers four years ago, in hospital in Leeds…. He tightens his embrace for just a moment and makes a soft sound of contentment that he hopes – but doubts – is muffled in Richard’s hair.  
  
“All right, then,” Richard murmurs, embarrassed but smiling softly, as he finally pulls away then returns to his car.  
  
James watches him walk away then looks up, ready to share a fond but teasing smile with Jeremy at Richard’s expense, but the other man just asks, “Are you sure?”  
  
“Jeremy…. Jezza. I promise.”  
  
“Good,” Jeremy says, voice gruff. “Then stop holding us up and let’s get a move on, Captain Slow.” He pulls open the driver’s door to James’ car, leans in and pulls out another burka.  
  
“Oh, joy,” James mutters, taking it from him and slipping it over his head. He reaches up to slip the fabric over his face, but Jeremy stops him with a hand on his arm.  
  
“Sit. We’ve still got a few minutes before the crew’s ready,” he says, completely undermining his previous instructions.  
  
With a quirk of his lips, James drops into the seat with a sigh and a groan that he tries to muffle. He got a clean bill of health, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t sore all over.  
  
The door shuts behind Jeremy’s gentle shove. Instead of heading immediately to his own car, Jeremy drops to a knee with a grunted curse. James can hear the pop-pop of his joints and wonders, not for the first time – not even for the first time this morning – for how long the two of them can continue doing this.  
  
Jeremy curls his long fingers over the bottom of the window frame and taps anxiously several times before finally saying quietly, “You need to stop, or slow down, you tell me, or you tell Andy.”  
  
His tone brooks no argument, but James still tries. “I’m fine, Clarkson. I don’t need you and Hammond taking the piss because….”  
  
“No, James. I’m not watching you get dizzy and fucking collapse because you’ve got a goddamn fucking head injury and you insist on pushing too hard.”  
  
“Jezza.” James lays his hand on the door, fingers draping over Jeremy’s. “When have you ever known me to ‘push my body to the limit’? I’m not Hammond. And this isn’t…this isn’t like his accident. I won’t be writing ‘My Concussion in Syria’ when we get home. Nobody’d read it.”  
  
“That’s all I could think of, James,” Jeremy begins softly, free hand fiddling with the door handle. “It probably wasn’t even a minute before you opened your eyes, but all I could remember was sitting there, next to you, in those hard plastic visitor’s chairs, praying that Hammond would wake up.”  
  
James curls his fingers around Jeremy’s: pale, hairy skin against pale, hairy skin. Maybe this is the real reason some people are against gay marriage: horrible engagement photos.  
  
“And then,” Jeremy continues, “when you didn’t remember where you were….”  
  
“I remembered you.” James insists softly. “And I remembered Richard.”  
  
Jeremy looks up and grins. On anyone else, James would say the look was bashful. “Good. Can’t forget us.”  
  
“Apparently not. I….” James pauses, unsure whether he should continue.  
  
“Yeah…?”  
  
James swallows, but his thoughts are interrupted by Richard’s “Oi!”  
  
They both startle at the sound of Richard’s voice, but don’t rush to separate as the younger man steps up to the car. Face covered up again, the gentle smirk is still visible in his eyes. “I tried to give you guys a minute, but the crew are raring to go.”  
  
“Thanks, Hamster.” Jeremy squeezes James’ hand briefly as he stands.  
  
“You both know you look utterly ridiculous, don’t you?” James has to ask.  
  
Richard puts his hands on his hips and spins. “You don’t find us attractive now?”  
  
“God no!”  
  
“What, too feminine?” Jeremy asks.  
  
James stops to think about it. “You two make the ugliest woman I have ever seen.”  
  
“And James May is known the world over for his impeccable taste in women.”  
  
James is laughing even as he chastises, “You cock.”  
  
Then Jeremy flashes him that grin just before covering up his face, and he’s reminded that while they make horrible woman, as men they both still make James’ heart skip a beat.  
  
\--  
  
James waits at the hotel’s front desk, trying to hide his impatience. After the key is dropped into his hand, he reaches for his bag but comes up empty. He glances up in confusion to find Jeremy standing there, his own bag plus James’ slung over his shoulders. “C’mon, Slow.”  
  
“I really am fine,” he protests again as he pushes the door to his room open for Jeremy and watches the other man drop his luggage lazily on top of the bed instead of on the floor where he would have preferred it.  
  
“I know. See you in a few.”  
  
There’s little else James wants more than a shower, but they have to film their “presents for the Baby Jesus” bits and then dinner. And he is quite starving.  
  
There’s a knock, and he’s halfway to the door when he realizes he isn’t coming from the door to the hall but from the connecting door. He opens it without unhooking the chain at first, unsure who has the room next to him or even if it’s someone he knows. “Clarkson.”  
  
“Open up.”  
  
Even as he’s doing as demanded, he asks, “Why didn’t you come to the other door?”  
  
“Leave this unlocked.” There’s an uncertainty to his tone that belies his words.  
  
“Why?”  
  
“I – I just…. I’ll feel better. Knowing I can…. Humor me.”  
  
“God, Jez, I’m not going to wake up in the middle of the night to see you hovering over me, staring at me, trying to see if I’m breathing, am I?”  
  
James isn’t sure – Jeremy’s been in the sun for a long time – but he thinks his friend flushes. “No.” Then he mumbles something. James isn’t positive, but it sounds a lot like, “Not if you don’t wake up.”  
  
“Why…?” James takes a deep breath. “Why are you being so…nice to me?”  
  
Jeremy shrugs and drops into one of the room’s two chairs. “You’re my friend.”  
  
James sits across the table from him and sighs. If he wants Jeremy to bare his soul, maybe he has to give something first. “Before – before Hammond came over, earlier, interrupted us….”  
  
“Yeah? What were you going to say?”  
  
“I was going to…. Remember that night? That I told you and Hammond?”  
  
“Do I remember the night my best friend told me he was gay?” Jeremy chuckles, and James tries not to show his surprise.  _Best friend? Me?_  “Yeah, I have a vague recollection.”  
  
“Shut up, you pikey.” He swallows. “That was one of the first things I remembered when I came to. I remembered that. What you said to me. Both of you.”  _I remembered pressing my nose into your neck, and Hammond’s arms around me._  
  
Jeremy runs long fingers through his hair, tugging at the already unruly curls. “I know I’m a complete arse.”  
  
“Just most of the time.” James smiles gently, and Jeremy returns his smile with a wry one of his own.  
  
“I hated seeing you like that. Hurting.” James isn’t sure if he means lying on the ground, concussed, in Syria, or sitting in a bar in Hammersmith, leaving himself open for ridicule and rejection. Before he can ask, Jeremy continues, “I’ll jab the needle in occasionally to annoy you, but I don’t like to see you genuinely in pain. And you  _are_ , May, and now that I can see that, now that I’m looking, I can tell you have been for years. And I’m sure for much longer than I’ve known you. And that kills me, James. It just utterly kills me.”  
  
James reaches hesitantly across the table and cups Jeremy’s cheek in his hand. Jeremy glances down warily but just huffs an embarrassed laugh out his nose.  
  
The sun and wind and sand have made his friend’s skin even drier, rasping as James brushes his thumb briefly across his cheek. “It’s getting better, Jezza. You and Richard are helping. Your easy acceptance makes it easier to accept myself.”  
  
Before Jeremy has a chance to respond, there’s another knock at the door, this time coming from the hall.  
  
“Bastard,” Jeremy mutters with a fond smile before getting up to let Richard in.  
  
\--  
  
After a long day spent working on the scripts for their Christmas specials, James, Richard, and Jeremy adjourn to a pub somewhere – James is almost positive – between the White City office and James’ house.  
  
James is exhausted. Not wanting to start the series proper with this secret, not wanting Andy and the crew confused if Jeremy’s usual gay jokes were met with something other than the usual reaction or were given with knowing smirks, he’d told everyone. Okay, to be honest, he’d told Andy and Iain and let the usual office gossip work its magic. But by noon, it seemed, everyone knew.  
  
They were supportive and refreshingly unfazed, at least on the surface. If only so many of them hadn’t felt the need to be so talkative and touchy about it.  _Be there for me, yes,_  he’d thought more than once, _but must you really tell me how proud you are, or how your brother dealt with coming out?_  
  
Still, he is glad he no longer has to hide.  
  
“I’ve never seen Wilman so terrified,” Jeremy is laughing from across the table.  
  
“What?” James asks, genuinely confused. “He – he seemed fine when I talked to him.”  
  
“It’s not you he’s afraid of, May. He’s afraid I – or we,” he pauses for a moment, “mostly I – am going to cock it up. Say something unforgivable.”  
  
“If it hasn’t happened yet….” James leans back in his seat, more relaxed now, and folds his arms over his chest.  
  
“That’s what I said. I mean, if you didn’t kill me – or quit - after mentioning Bar Six….”  
  
“Don’t think I wasn’t tempted,” James mutters.  
  
“…then taking the piss for you being gay, when you’re  **actually gay**  is nothing.”  
  
James’ fingers twitch. He’s tempted to step outside and have a smoke, but he doesn’t want Clarkson to know he’s not perfectly calm. “About that.”  
  
“You’re not going to ask me to lay off the homosexualist jokes, are you?” Jeremy pauses, takes a sip of his beer. “I will do,” he continues, and James blinks in surprise. “I’ll do it if you ask.” He grins. “But I rather hope you don’t.”  
  
James rolls his eyes. “Don’t worry, Clarkson, I won’t take away your favorite hobby.”  
  
“It’s not my  **favorite**  hobby,” Jeremy murmurs.  
  
James takes a deep breath. “I’m not out yet. Publicly. And I don’t know when I will be.”  
  
“So don’t  **actually**  out you on telly,” Richard says, peeling the label off the empty bottle of beer in front of him. “We won’t, mate.”  
  
“And will you at least try to do a better job at that than you did not driving into the back of my car on Death Road?”  
  
Jeremy snickers, but agrees.  
  
Richard disappears, then, for a slash and to buy another round.  
  
The silence between him and Jeremy grows from comfortable to…not. He can feel the other man looking at him. Every time he glances Jeremy’s way, his head turns abruptly, as if he just noticed the woman with the ample bosom sitting in the corner or the burnt-out light bulb above their table.  
  
“James….”  
  
Before Jeremy can continue, Richard is back, drinks in hand. Instead of returning to his seat next to Jeremy, he drops into the empty chair at James’ right.  
  
“May,” he says, in a Clarkson-esque whisper. James is sure Fusker can hear it from home. “Don’t look, but that man over there at the bar – no, I said ‘don’t look!’”  
  
“What, Hammond?”  
  
“I think he’s checking you out.”  
  
“He is not.”  
  
“He really is, mate.”  
  
“Hammond….”  
  
“I’m serious. Look. Watch him – but don’t let him know you’re watching – and when your drink’s gone, go up there. See if he talks to you.”  
  
“Hammond,” he repeats again.  
  
“Come on. Nothing else, just see if he talks to you. I’m not telling you to go home with him tonight, just see if you get on.”  
  
James still hasn’t really looked yet. “Which one is it?”  
  
“The blondish one. The good looking one.”  
  
James lifts his head. He is rather good looking. And he does seem to be looking James’ way.  
  
“He’s good looking, Hammond?” Jeremy asks with a grin.  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Would you fuck him?”  
  
Richard sits up straighter. “If I were into blokes. And if he’s nice.”  
  
“If he’s nice? What happened to Mr. ‘First Girl You See in a Nightclub?’”  
  
“What? Like you’ve not changed since you were a kid?”  
  
James tries to drink his beer slowly, hoping the man will leave. It isn’t that he’s not interested, it’s simply that he’s terrified. And sure that Richard’s wrong and he’s only going to make a cock out of himself if he shows the tiniest bit of interest. But he can only put if off for so long. And with the man’s mates playing darts in the corner, at least there will be fewer witnesses to his humiliation.  
  
“Wish me luck,” he says quietly.  
  
“Good luck, mate,” Richard answers easily.  
  
“Jezza?” James asks when Clarkson is silent.  
  
The other man doesn’t look up from his phone. “Oh, yeah. Good luck.”  
  
With a confused shrug, James gets up and tries to stride confidently to the bar. He doubts he succeeds, but at least he doesn’t trip. And his zip is…well, at least he hopes it’s up.  
He stands near the mystery man as he gives his order, can’t help tapping his fingers on the top of the bar in time with the music as he tries to stay calm.  _What can I say that won’t make me an obvious, pathetic berk if he’s not interested_? He hates small talk.  
  
“You a musician?” the man asks.  
  
James blinks. Smiles softly. “Sort of.”  
  
“Classical guitar. You?”  
  
“Piano, mostly.”  
  
The man reaches out a hand, smiles a frankly brilliant smile, and says, “I’m Sean.”  
  
“James.”  
  
“I couldn’t help noticing you, James.”  
  
“I…” James looks down briefly and clears his throat. “I was rather hoping you were.”


	4. Part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeremy makes a proposal.

_The man reaches out a hand, smiles a frankly brilliant smile, and says, “I’m Sean.”_

_“James.”_

_“I couldn’t help noticing you, James.”_

_“I…” James looks down briefly and clears his throat. “I was rather hoping you were.”_

\--

Talking to Sean is easy, in a way James isn’t used to with people he barely knows – or even with most people he’s known for years. He’s not sure if it’s nothing more than finally talking to someone like him - who understands what it’s like to be different - or if it’s a sign of something more.

In a half hour, James learns they have more in common than just music: a love of motorbikes, a dislike of poncery, an overwhelming need for a good cup of tea. James feels lighter than he has in months, ever since the moment he decided he needed to tell Sarah the truth.

He ignores the bong of his phone the first time. And the second. But on the third, he smiles apologetically at Sean and slips it out of his pocket. Three texts. The first two from Richard. _Get his # and come back to us._ and _Srsly mate need to tell u something._ The last is from Jeremy: _May, leave that worthless sod and get your arse back here._

James glowers at the phone, and Sean chuckles in commiseration. “From your friends?”

“Yeah. How’d you know?”

“They’ve been glaring at me for the last ten minutes.”

James turns his heads and shoots them a look. Jeremy won’t quite look at him, but Richard gestures at him to come back to the table.

“I – I should probably be going, too,” Sean says, and James is delighted to hear what sounds like disappointment in his voice. “My mates seem kind of antsy, as well, and they’re taking me home.”

“I – I’m glad I got to meet you, Sean.”

“As am I, James. Look,” he takes a business card out of his wallet, turns it around and scribbles on the back. “Here’s my number. I hope I hear from you soon.”

James watches Sean and his friends leave before crossing the room and dropping into his seat. “What the fuck are you two playing at?”

“James,” Richard interrupts, but James doesn’t stop.

“You – you prodded me to go talk to him, and then when I do – and when I fucking enjoy the conversation, when I start to really….” He trails off and sighs. “You know I’m no good at this. Why would you…?”

“James,” Richard says again. His voice is so soft and uncertain that James finally looks at him. “He – I’m sorry, mate. If I’d known….”

“Known what?” James glances across the table at Jeremy, but the other man is staring at his drink.

Finally, Richard answers. “He’s married, mate.”

“He – no, he’s not. C’mon, Hammond, that’s not even funny.”

Richard shifts to face him a little and rests his fingertips on James’ arm. “I wanted him to be good for you, James. I wouldn’t make something like this up.”

“How do you know, then, that he’s married? He wasn’t wearing a ring.”

Jeremy glances up with a cocked eyebrow and briefly lifts up his own, ringless, hand.

“Heard his mates talking. Apparently he does this a lot.”

“Does what a lot? Picks up poor, unsuspecting, **pathetic** men? Is that what he does?”

His name comes loud, and sharp, from across the table. “He’s the pathetic one. Not you, Slow.”

“Why? I – I don’t…?”

Richard shrugs. “Maybe he’s closeted. Maybe he’s just a big, fat arse. I don’t know, James. Just…please. Don’t call him.”

James leans back in his chair, swallowing hard and fighting back the tears he won’t allow to fall. He’s so tired, so frustrated already. And he’s barely got anywhere. “If it were almost anyone else, Richard,” he takes a deep breath, “I’d refuse to believe you.”

“Believe him,” Jeremy says softly. James glances up. The older man still won’t quite look at him. “Richard came back to the table, livid; I had to keep him from going over there and beating the shit out of him.”

Richard snorts. “That’s nothing. I had to convince Jeremy he couldn’t set him on fire!”

“Why me?” James can’t help but ask.

“Oh, mate,” Richard whispers, leaning in to press his shoulder against James’. James presses back, just a touch.

Jeremy reaches across the table and snags the spare coaster. He fiddles with it as he asks, almost absently, “You know what you need, James?”

“Hmm?”

“Sex.”

James blinks. “Clarkson, if you’re suggesting that you hire me a prostitute….”

“No.” Jeremy pauses, then says “No!” again, a sharp, surprised bark this time. “You need to have sex with someone who likes you, who doesn’t mind your stupid hair and your boring rambles, and who likes that barking mad laugh you do when something really tickles you.”

“Well, yeah. But I can’t have that until I date someone. And every time I think about dating someone, I think about everything I don’t know, everything I haven’t done, and how do I explain that I….”

“That’s why you should have sex with me,” Jeremy finishes in a rush.

“…have no experi- what?!”

“What?!” Richard asks at nearly the same time.

Jeremy sits up straighter – and isn’t that ironic – and finally looks at James. “You heard me.”

“Have you fallen, mate?” Richard asks with a nervous laugh, and James almost says “Oi!”, but it’s a fair question. “Have you fallen and hit your head on something?”

“It makes perfect sense.”

“How? How does it make perfect sense? Or, really, any sense at all?”

“Easy. James needs someone who’ll sleep with him, and he’s too fussy about being touched that he can’t go the normal route and just **find** someone willing to overlook his obvious issues and just get on with it. And I, well, I don’t find him **completely** hideous.”

Richard is in the middle of another incredulous response when James pushes himself up from the table.

“I don’t really need your pity, Clarkson, or your whatever this is,” he mutters, snagging his jacket between his fingers. “I’m going outside for a fag.”

Behind him, he can hear Richard and Jeremy arguing, the words indistinct (other than “pillock” and “fuck” and, boy, does that bring back memories), and then a muffled, pained yell from Jeremy just as the door’s shutting behind him.

The cigarette’s half gone before Richard exits the pub, pushing the heavy door open and dropping his hands into his pockets. James watches him turn his head, squinting through the dim. He could make it easier for him, shout his name, but he just drops his head, presses his shoulders back against the coarse brick wall and continues smoking, silently.

It isn’t long before Richard’s crunching footsteps grow louder and louder until they finally stop.

“Hammond,” he says quietly.

Eyes still down, James can see Richard from waist to feet as he rocks back on his heels, hands still in his pockets, shifting uncomfortably. “I don’t think it’s pity, mate,” he finally says.

James stubs the remainder of his cigarette out against the brick then tosses it at the ground with force. “Of course it isn’t,” he says dryly. “He’s just suddenly overcome with lust for me.”

The other man scratches awkwardly at his scalp, mussing his long hair. “It’s not that, either.” He sighs. “Listen. I think he’s serious. And I think you feel it, too. You know how he is. Sometimes he’s rubbish at showing affection, ends up insulting everyone instead.” Richard steps closer until James has little choice but to raise his eyes. His voice is soft but earnest as he says, “He’ll probably never say it, but he loves you.”

“There’s a long way from that to fucking me.” He doesn’t dispute the part about Jeremy loving him. He knows, though he’s never really put it into words inside his own head before. “And – if he’s so serious – why isn’t he out here himself?”

The chuckle that slips from Richard’s lips surprises James, as does the slight roll of his eyes. “His dicky hip. Stupid old man hurt himself trying to get up from the sodding table. Sent me out here to make sure you didn’t run away.”

James can’t help his own laugh from escaping, and it just gets louder and more seal-like as he catches sight of Jeremy gingerly exiting the pub and limping toward them.

“Glad you find my pain amusing, Slow,” he says when he finally hobbles up to them. He’s smiling, but it’s a smile James isn’t used to seeing on his friend: anxious and serious.

James tries to school his features, but then he catches Richard’s eye and is lost in a series of guffaws. Finally, with one final chuckle, he swallows. “Clarkson.”

“May.”

“Hip all right?”

“Will be.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Richard mutters impatiently.

Jeremy, if possible, stands even taller and crosses his arms over his chest. “Can still take care of you, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“Take care of…. Holy hell, Clarkson, we’re not in a bloody porno.”

Jeremy sighs and nods.

“Now, are you going to tell me what this is all about?”

Jeremy sighs – again – and moves to lean against the wall next to James, who can’t help but wonder if it’s so he doesn’t have to look at him while he talks. Richard shares a glance with James, looking uncomfortable but intrigued, and stays.

Jeremy begins slowly, hesitantly. “I – this isn’t something that I just thought of, tonight. I - I’ve been thinking of it for a while.”

“Since when?” James turns his head to watch his friend’s profile.

“Since Virginia. When you said you’d never…. It just, sort of, was in my mind: ‘Someone is going to be James’ first.’ And that was fine. There was no problem. But then….”

“New York,” Richard supplies, quietly, a certainty in his voice that makes James blink in confusion. “When we – when we finally started to understand….”

James shuffles against the scratchy brick. “How I couldn’t…with just anyone….”

“And then this pillock, in there,” Jeremy’s voice is louder now, angry, one long finger jabbing viciously back at the bar. “The idea of someone hurting you, James, of someone who doesn’t care about you….”

“I’m a big boy, Clarkson. I can take care of myself.”

Jeremy pushes himself away from the wall and turns to face James. “I have no doubt that you can. None. But, I can make it easier.”

“Guys?” Both men turn to look at Richard. “I – if this happens – I want in.”

“Have you both lost your fucking minds?” James asks.

“Hamster?” Jeremy cocks his head to the side.

“It’s – I don’t want James thinking I don’t…I don’t care as much.”

“Richard,” James breathes.

“And….” Richard shrugs and looks down, digging into the dirt with one scuffed boot. “And I don’t want you two sharing something like this, without me. I don’t want to be left out.” He sounds so small that James almost takes the initiative to draw him into a hug. Almost.

“Mate,” is all he can say, instead, and can only hope it conveys everything.

“Plus, you need me there. Jeremy just shoves into everything without thinking, so he’ll…well, just shove on in without thinking. You’ll be in hospital with severe arse trauma.”

James and Jeremy laugh, then, Jeremy bracing himself with one hand on James’ shoulder.

When their laughter finally slows, James leans back, the brick tugging at his hair as he stares at the sky. He can’t help the flood of warmth he’s feeling at the intensity in his mates’ voices. But he has to stop this now. He can’t let it go any further.

He shakes his head and turns toward Jeremy. “You couldn’t even kiss me, Jezza. You couldn’t handle it.”

Jeremy’s laugh is loud and short and incredulous. “Right. Because the force of a James May kiss will leave me weak in the bloody knees.”

James moves quickly, clutching Clarkson’s leather jacket in his fists and shoving the other man against the wall. Jeremy lets out a surprised groan that almost drowns out Hammond’s gasp, but he doesn’t fight back as James leans in close, watching Jeremy’s eyes, looking for a sign to back off.

He doesn’t see lust, but neither does he see revulsion or fear. There’s nervousness there, in the blue depths, a complement to the rapid thudding of James’ heart, and a bit of excitement that reminds James of the times when Jeremy drives a particularly fantastic car. But mostly – and how can someone’s eyes say so much? - he sees affection.

There’s the squeak of old leather when James’ fingers convulse around Jeremy’s jacket as he tries to suppress a moan when lips touch lips. _Jeremy_. For years, he’s wanted this, was sure it would never happen.

He nudges his lips tentatively, gently, against Jeremy’s in invitation. At first, there’s no response, and James begins to pull back, but Clarkson grabs James’ shirt above the zip of his jacket and holds him still. Another second and he’s kissing back.

It’s not a perfect kiss. But nothing James has experienced in life ever has been perfect, save a cup of tea or two. Certainly never a kiss. While James can feel a curiosity and a definite kind of desire there, Jeremy is clearly into it more for James’ benefit than his own, following James’ lead, hand twitching uncertainly where it lays against James’ chest. And, somehow, knowing that Jeremy cares enough to do this despite his inclinations, wants to make it good for James, makes him happy in a way he hasn’t been in a while. It’s not Jezza suddenly realizing he’s madly in love with him, but he knew that was never going to happen. This is good, too.

Absently, James can hear soles on tarmac. Anyone could be in the car park, anyone could see, and yet he doesn’t care.

He should pull away, now, quit reveling in the feel of Jeremy’s tongue against his own, Jeremy’s short exhalations against his skin as their lips realign, the taste of beer and peanuts and tobacco. Instead he slides one arm around Jeremy’s waist, under his jacket; with his other hand, he runs the back of his fingers along Jeremy’s jaw line. Once. Twice.

With a small sigh, James finally breaks the kiss. He leans briefly against the other man, chest to chest, his nose slightly squashed against Jeremy’s cheek, eyes still closed. One final kiss – quick and chaste – against his friend’s lips then he pulls away.

James jolts when Jeremy’s hand folds around his own.

James doesn’t lift his eyelids until he hears Jeremy say his surname. “You love me.” Jeremy’s voice is rough with emotion and amazement. “I mean, you really love me.”

James tugs at his hair, looks down at his shoes, and shrugs.

“That’s what you meant by I couldn’t handle it.”

James nods and finally looks up. He’s not sure what he’s expecting, but Jeremy looks the same as always.

“I can handle it, James. I – I don’t want to hurt you if it’s…” he sighs, “if it’s too much or something, but I can handle it.”

James swallows. “I don’t know if I can, Jezza.”

Jeremy nods, thoughtfully, then frowns. “Where’d Hamster go?”

They scan the car park and finally see the Morgan, interior lights on, a dark silhouette inside. “C’mon, Slow.” To James’ surprise, Jeremy punctuates his thought with a hand curved around the back of James’ neck, thumb stroking his skin as he leads them to Richard’s car.

Richard sees them approaching, stepping out of the car and leaning against the bonnet before they get there. He smiles crookedly at James, but it’s almost a sad smile. James doesn’t understand until Richard speaks. “I take it back. You – you two should – if you, you know…. Alone. I don’t want to intrude.”

James leans next to his mate, closer than he normally would, but not quite touching. Except where his elbow brushes against Richard’s upper arm when he reaches up to scratch the end of his nose.

“You pillock,” he says fondly.

“What?! Why am I a pillock?”

James looks up at Jeremy, then, silently imploring the man to open his big mouth once again, to make it so James doesn’t have to actually say it. He sighs when Jeremy just grins and shakes his head. “However I feel about Clarkson…. I feel it about you, too.”

“Yeah?” James is surprised at how pleased he sounds. Surely enough people love Hammond that he doesn’t need James’ extra bit.

“Of course. But…. I don’t think I can…. You two are married, you love your families, and…and I, I just don’t think I can have a little bit of that, and then give it back.”

“I understand, mate.”

Jeremy clears his throat and both men startle at the sound. “Back to James’ then? Maybe a little action flick?”

James perks up. “We could play _Risk_?”

Richard groans. Loudly. “No. No, mate. I’ve had a long fucking day, and I don’t want to listen to you calculating probability or the two of you arguing about whether invading Mongolia was the right thing to do or whatever.”

Oh well. It was worth a shot.  
\--

James expects it to be awkward amongst them after that, but it’s not. Other than the soft, lopsided smile Richard sends him the next time they’re together or the gentler-than-normal way Jeremy nudges his elbow, silently asking for his lighter, the next time they grab a cigarette together, everything is normal.

But, privately, James is whirling, thinking. Sometimes it’s as if he can’t shut his traitorous mind up. The idea’s been put there, now, and though he successfully traps it away most of the time, he can’t help but remember, replay it in his mind, imagine.

It could be his – Jeremy’s large body pinning him down, Richard’s small hand wrapped around his cock – just once, he knows, but how could he have turned that down?

At the pub to celebrate Richard’s birthday, Jeremy returns from the bog to slide back into the booth next to James. Shaken from his reverie, James looks down, flushed.

“Nice thoughts, Slow?” Jeremy asks with a grin.

James snorts softly. “A bit, yeah.”

Jeremy turns serious. “Anything you want to talk about?”

Was that…? “I – I’m not sure yet.”

“Wanna see if we can steal Hamster’s phone and make him post embarrassing tweets?”

James nearly chokes on the mouthful of beer in his mouth. He grins. “Yeah.”

\--

James is nervous throughout the taping of their Christmas episode, not least because Jeremy and candles should never be mixed. It’s wonderful to be back – and he can barely help breaking into a grin every time he glances to his left to see Richard’s shaggy mane has finally been chopped off – but he’s made a decision. He only hopes….

“Chaps?” He leans into his friends at the end of the taping. “Can I have a word? In the portakabin, once we’re done with autographs?”

Richard and Jeremy both agree, apprehensive looks on their faces that James dismisses with a shake of his head and a nervous smile.

James fixes three cups of tea while Richard and Jeremy wait on the sofa, excitedly reliving the show.

“ _Would you like some pussy_ , Jeremy? Seriously? That wasn’t in the script.”

Jeremy chuckles loudly. “Well it wouldn’t have been quite so funny had you been expecting it. The look on your face!”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Both men stop laughing and look up as James holds out two cups of tea. He settles himself into the chair and takes a sip from his own mug before setting it down and leaning forward, elbows on his knees.

“Were…” he begins, eyes on his shoes. “Were you both serious? Before?”

To their credit, his mates don’t waste any time pretending they don’t know what he’s asking.

“I – I was, mate,” Richard answers, hesitantly, glancing quickly between James and Jeremy.

“I was, too,” Jeremy replies. “I wouldn’t, you know, I wouldn’t fuck around. Not with something like that.”

James nods and finally looks up. He blinks a few times, but the concerned looks on their faces don’t change. “Did – want to come around to mine, in a couple of weeks? For my birthday?”

Jeremy and Richard exchange confused glances before Hammond answers, “’Course, mate. I’d assumed we would, a curry and a film or something as usual.”

“And – if you still…. Maybewecouldhavesex?” he asks in a rush, a warm flush spreading over his skin.

Jeremy snorts into his fist. He opens his mouth to answer, but all that comes out is a squeaky croak. Richard laughs until Jeremy and then James join in. Jeremy wipes a tear of laughter from his eyes. “Hell of a proposition, May.”

Tugging at his hair, James prays silently for an answer, positive or not.

“We do this,” Richard begins, “and we don’t use it against each other. I don’t want to be arguing with you a month from now and hear ‘Well, at least **I** don’t have a tiny penis!’”

Jeremy lets out a shocked sputter of laughter, which James quickly adds to with his full-steam braying laugh.

“Which, which I don’t,” Richard butts in, “I was just using that as an example.”

“All right,” Jeremy says once the laughter has died down. “We don’t let this break us. We can’t.”

“So – is that a yes?” James asks quietly, trying for casual but failing spectacularly.

“It’s a yes from me,” Jeremy says.

“And me.”

\--

It’s 30 minutes before his friends are supposed to arrive, and James is getting nervous. Palm sweating-ly, stomach turning-ly nervous. With no Fusker to cuddle, or girlfriend to engage in small talk, he sits down at the piano.

He begins slowly, haltingly, trembling fingers stumbling over familiar notes. But soon his mind clears, his fingers obey, and his breathing calms.

He’s lost deep in the music, eyes shut, when he begins to feel like he’s being watched. James’ eyes open and he tilts his head. Jeremy and Richard.

“Doorbell’s broke again,” Jeremy murmurs softly as James’ fingers still.

“Tried calling you, but you didn’t answer. So we let ourselves in.” Richard shrugs. They’re both quiet, and still, and James begins to feel like he’s under inspection.

“Keep playing?” Jeremy asks. If he’s not very much mistaken, James thinks he can hear a note of hope in his voice. Whyever for? It’s just the bloody piano.

“You’ve heard me play before.”

“Not properly. Not like you mean it. You – that was bloody good, James.”

He ducks his head for a moment, then shakes it slowly, before getting up and heading toward the kitchen. “I’ll put the kettle on.”

He can hear Richard murmuring to Jeremy, then the younger man follows him into the kitchen. “What was that about?”

“Where’s Jeremy?”

“Went to the car to get our stuff. Seriously, mate. You couldn’t indulge him? Just for a bit?”

How does he explain it to Richard? What he can’t even put into words for himself? “I – I don’t like people listening to me. Not…. He’s right, it’s different if it’s for a lark. It’s not…personal.” _It’s not **me**_.

“So, you’ll have sex with him, but you won’t let him listen to you play the piano?”

James snorts softly in befuddled agreement.

“You’re a little bit of a messed up puppy, James.”

James nods and lifts one shoulder in a shrug.

“I, um, the girls made you something.” Richard hands over an A4-sized manila envelope that James hadn’t even noticed him holding. He then shoves his hands into his pockets and looks up hesitantly – and when can that word be used to describe anything Richard Hammond does – and says, “I wasn’t sure whether to give it to you, considering what happened, but they worked so hard on it, and they were so sad to hear about Fusker.”

“I see Izzy’s inherited some of her dad’s artistic ability,” James says around the small lump in his throat, looking fondly down at a drawing of his cat. It looks remarkably like the pikey beast.

Richard smiles proudly. “Yeah, and I’d be remiss if I didn’t point out the sky and grass that Willow did. And that tree, there,” he says leaning over James’ arm and pointing at one corner of the page.

James laughs gently but genuinely. “Ah, yes, the strip of blue and green across the top and bottom of the page. I remember those days. And the tree that’s only about twice the size of the cat. Well, maybe it’s just a baby tree. Better than I can do, certainly.”

He crosses the kitchen and looks for an unused magnet on the refrigerator. Not finding one, he pulls down his shopping list and sets it on the worktop. “Don’t need that,” he murmurs, positioning the drawing front and center on the front of the refrigerator.

“That’ll do until I can frame it. I’ll hang it next to the piano.”

“Really?” Richard asks, doubtfully.

“Sure. I’m – well, I’m quite touched, really.” He sniffs once, rubs at his nose with his wrist, and swallows. “I quite miss that fucking thing. I’ll have to call them tomorrow. Thank them.”

He turns away then, back toward the kettle, to compose himself. He faintly hears Richard slide onto the chair at the table, quietly for once.

Then, of course, Jeremy comes blustering into the room, dropping two hold-alls unceremoniously onto the floor and complaining loudly about ‘the man with the dodgy back shouldn’t have to carry all the bloody luggage.’

When Richard doesn’t comment, and James doesn’t turn around, Jeremy asks, “What? What’d I miss? And where’s your bloody cat, May? I expected the little shit to be sitting in the corner, staring at me, like usual….”

“The cat’s dead,” James interrupts, flatly. Richard choruses with the same words a fraction of a second behind.

“What? What happened?” Jeremy crosses the room to stand behind James.

“Got hit by a car,” he answers, flinching as Jeremy sets a hand on his shoulder. “Clarkson, don’t…. I swear, if you touch me right now, I’m honestly not sure whether I’m more likely to cry or punch you.”

Jeremy drops his hand. “Where d’you want our stuff?” he mumbles.

James sucks in a quick breath and tries to ignore how wet it sounds. “Upstairs.” Both men disappear and, by the time they return, he’s settled at the kitchen table, lit cigarette in hand, glass of wine in front of him.

“Gentlemen,” he greets them, and the other two join him at the table without a word.


	5. Part 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James finally gets to have what he's wanted most. Or does he?

After dinner, they linger at the table for much longer than usual, talking and sipping at their drinks (and James is relieved to notice that they’re all pacing themselves rather slowly; no worrying that any of them is going into this without a clear head.) Finally, when it’s getting closer to the hour when he can say with complete truthfulness that he has been on this earth for 48 years, Richard swallows the last sip of his beer and takes a deep breath. “Upstairs, then?”  
  
On the second step, James stops and turns toward where his friends stand poised to begin the ascent up his staircase, his head down. “I – if either of you decide, at any time, you don’t want….” He trails off and sighs, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. “You can change your mind. But, please, if you have any doubts…any at all…please tell me now. I couldn’t….”  _I couldn’t bear to come so close to having you, only to have you taken away from me._  
  
Richard lifts himself onto the first step and leans in, looking up, silent until he catches James’ eyes. “Mate? We’re sure. Jeremy and I – we’ve both spent a lot of time thinking about this, even talking about it a bit, making sure…. We’re not backing out now.”  
  
James nods, grateful, but doesn’t move until Jeremy grumbles, “Are you gonna stand there all night, May?”  
  
In the bedroom, things turn awkward again, and James is reminded, not for the first time, that they’ve not really discussed any of this. He sits on the end of the bed and Richard perches uncomfortably next to him. “What, er….”  
  
Richard snorts softly. Then, maybe because he’s realized that he has the closest thing to experience in any of this and probably will have to take some control over the proceedings if anything is going to happen, asks quietly, “Which one of us do you, y’know, want to fuck you? I mean, you  **do**  want…?”  
  
James nods, certain of that at least. He almost wishes they hadn’t asked him, had just decided between themselves. He knows the answer, doesn’t have to think about it, but he takes three long, slow breaths before answering “Jeremy” in a soft voice, eyes on the carpet.  
  
Jeremy makes a triumphant “Aha!” sound, then “Shit, I forgot the porn,” before turning and heading back down the stairs.  
  
James lifts his head and turns toward his mate. Richard has one eyebrow raised and a puzzled look on his features. “Did he just say he ‘forgot the porn’?” he chuckles.  
  
James ignores Richard’s attempt at changing the subject. “Rich. I – I need you to know, it’s not…not that I don’t…not that I like him more or anything, it’s just….”  
  
“He’s Jezza,” Richard says with a nod and a small, genuine smile, as if that explained it all. And in a way it did. “I know.”  
  
“I’d like to….” James takes a deep breath and prepares to dive in. It’s not as if he’s going to say ‘no,’ right? “I’d like to suck you off. If you don’t mind.”  
  
Richard bursts into laughter, and James has the tiniest moment of panic that his friend finds the entire idea preposterous, before he finds himself wrapped up in Hammond. “Of course I wouldn’t say no to that, you numpty.” He pulls back, folds of James’ jumper still in his fists, and whispers, “Can I kiss you now?”  
  
Nodding dumbly, James leans down and in and gets his first taste of Hammond. This kiss is different from the one with Jeremy, but no better or worse for it. Richard has obviously had time to think about the prospect of kissing James, and there’s no hesitation. James surrenders control, opening his mouth to Richard’s meandering tongue. There’s a soft tug at his hair as Richard grasps a handful a touch tighter than he’d prefer, but he hears himself moan softly in response. His own hands grip at Richard’s waist, clenching and unclenching at the fabric of his t-shirt.  
  
When they break apart sometime later, his eyes remain closed for a minute until he hears Richard retort defensively, “What? I like kissing, and I like James.”  
  
James’ eyes open and he looks up to see Jeremy standing there, arms awkwardly at his sides, mouth open. “I didn’t say anything. I got the porn,” he says, unnecessarily holding up a plastic DVD case. “I, um, I’m not sure I’ll need it, though.”  
  
James lifts one corner of his mouth and holds out his hand, bravely tugging Jeremy toward them when he takes it. “Good. Don’t have a DVD player in here, anyway.”  
  
“James’s gonna give me a blow job first. That all right with you, Jeremy?”  
  
Jeremy nods silently then clears his throat. “And I’ll be…?”  
  
“Here?” James says, hopefully. “I mean…if you don’t mind?”  
  
“No, no, that’ll be fine.” He sits next to them on the bed. “It’ll be like live-action porn. I mean, I had that dream once, but there were a few more breasts involved.”  
  
Richard tries to hide a giggle with a sigh. “Charming, Jeremy, really.”  
  
James is tempted to ask how they should get started, but he’s the gay one here. If his mates have to walk him through everything, he’ll never get a boyfriend. Determined, he threads his fingers in Richard’s hair, and leans in.  
  
Richard is still mid-giggle when their lips meet, and he huffs a slight laugh out his nose before sighing and submitting to James’ kiss. James lets his hands wander, down Richard’s torso, along firm muscle, across the softness of his belly. His skin is smooth, and soft, and warm, but there’s also roughness: along the backs of his elbows, where James’ skin rasps against coarse body hair.  
  
Richard’s hands are on their own journey as well. James can feel them prickling the hair on his arms, soothing out the tenseness of his shoulders.  
  
James breaks their kiss, pressing his lips against Richard’s jaw, then down his neck. Hammond had obviously shaved not too long ago, but there’s still the hint of stubble that James can feel against his lips. It shouldn’t matter so much, but somehow it does, makes him want this even more.  
  
“Oh, Christ,” he murmurs, pulling back just a bit.  
  
One of Richard’s hands moves to the top of James’ head. “All right, mate?”  
  
He swallows and tries to figure out how to put it in words. “Yeah. I just – this is it. This is definitely what….” He trails off for a moment and feels Jeremy moving behind him. “How could I have denied myself for so long?”  
  
Long arms wrap around his waist from behind as Jeremy’s body moves flush against his, back to chest. Richard smiles softly at him, then leans up and presses a long kiss to his forehead. It’s an incongruous move, somehow, with his mate being smaller and younger and seemingly more fragile than him, but it has the desired effect.  
  
“Sorry,” he mutters after a moment. “’m done being a girl.”  
  
“We keep trying to tell you, May,” Jeremy whispers quietly but fiercely, in a tone James is fairly sure he’s never heard from the other man. “It’s not a crime to have feelings.”  
  
Normally, James would bristle at this reminder, but he knows what Jeremy’s trying to do, and for once, at least, it’s not get a rise out of James.  
  
“You gonna take this off?” Richard asks with a smile, tugging at the hem of James’ shirt.  
  
Good. No wallowing. He can’t stand wallowing.  
  
“All right.” And in one smooth motion, he lifts up the bottom of his shirt, pulls it over his head, and tosses it aside.  
  
To his surprise, cool, gentle fingers immediately trace a line across his back, from the left shoulder to the right. Then, even more unexpected, he can feel a dry kiss being placed on the nape of his neck, then warm, wet breath as Jeremy exhales. He and Richard exchange impressed and incredulous smiles then James grins wickedly.  
  
“What about you, Hamster?”  
  
Richard reaches to undo the buttons on his shirt then seems to think better of it. James’ stomach falls, but it only lasts as long as it takes Richard to flop back against the pillows. “Why don’t you take care of that?” he asks, eyelashes fluttering – or, at least attempting – in a manner that James surely hopes he knows isn’t alluring.  
  
The idea is, though.  
  
He misses the warm, comforting weight of Jeremy against his back when the other man pulls away, but he’s relieved to see him settle himself onto the bed against the other pillow. James takes a slight detour on his way to Richard, stopping to kneel on all fours next to Jeremy. Asking permission with his eyes, James leans in slowly. His head is caught in a large hand and pulled closer until their lips touch.  
  
He’ll never admit it to the oaf, but their first kiss had played on an almost-permanent loop in James’ head for nearly a week after the experience. This one is better.  
  
There’s less hesitation from both of them, of course, and more confidence. Jeremy’s hand moves to stroke James’ bare back, calluses rough but pleasurable against his skin. Christ, he can’t wait to have those hands all over him.  
  
He hears a light thump behind him then a quiet sigh and breaks away from Jeremy with a soft groan. “Hammond, what are you….” Richard lies there, shirtless, fingers trailing up and down his own chest. James smiles and rolls his eyes. “I thought you were waiting for me to do that?”  
  
“You were taking too long.” He winks at Jeremy, and the other man snorts.  
  
“Little shit can’t handle the attention not being on him, can he?”  
  
“No. He can’t. If you don’t mind, Jeremy….”  
  
To James’ surprise, Jeremy answers him by leaning up and pressing a quick kiss to James’ lips. “Go on,” he replies, light blush on his cheeks.  
  
James isn’t sure where to start with Richard. He knows what he  **wants** , but it seems impolite to just…do without being sure.  
  
He hovers above Richard, eyes flicking down to that tan, hairless torso, then back quickly to his face.  
  
“I, uh….”  
  
Short fingers curl around James’ forearm. “Mate? Whatever you want, all right? Just – I mean, don’t put anything in my arse without asking, but….”  
  
Jeremy laughs first, then James, his face coming to rest against Richard’s shoulder. The skin here is warm, smells like Richard. It’s a nice smell, that, one he’s not disappointed to get closer to. He snakes out his tongue, hesitantly, just touching. Tastes nice, too.  
  
The soft sigh encourages him to make his way across Richard’s chest, kissing and licking the freckles, mapping the skin with the pads of his fingers. Richard’s fingers thread in his hair as he murmurs, “Christ, mate.” Or, it might be “May,” it’s unclear. Either way, it’s not something he’s used to hearing in bed.  
  
Once his nose is nudging the waistband of the other man’s trousers, he can see the bulge in the fabric. He presses a long kiss to the skin beneath his navel: in joy, in relief, or just to touch, he’s not sure.  
  
The other man giggles quietly. “Tickles, James.”  
  
James looks up and smiles. Richard is smiling back, and a quick glance to his right shows that Jeremy is too. Eyes still on Richard, James flips open the button on his trousers and slowly slides down the zip. He frowns for just a moment when he looks down, but breaks into a barking laugh once he begins to slide down the trousers.  
  
“A pink G-string, Richard? You shouldn’t have.”  
  
“You remember  **James**  is the homosexualist, don’t you, Hammond?” Jeremy asks, craning his head to better see.  
  
Richard shrugs and grins. “Made you laugh, though, d’nt it?”  
Hands gripping either side of Richard’s waist, James leans over and kisses him. “That it did,” he murmurs.  
  
“Now hurry and take ‘em off. They’re right uncomfortable.”  
  
James slips two fingers under each side of the fabric and slowly slides them down, lifting the material over Richard’s erection and continuing until he’s got them past his feet and tossed onto the floor.  
  
“So that bit about one of us winning an argument by taking the piss over your tiny penis?” he begins, glancing up at Richard’s flush face. “That was just…?”  
  
Richard snorts. “I told you, that was just an example.”  
  
One corner of James’ mouth turns upwards, and he reaches out, tentatively. Then he remembers: he has permission. Tracing the long, hard line of his mate’s cock with the tips of his fingers, he lets out a slow breath, heart pounding so loudly his mates must be able to hear it. He catches a quick twitch of thigh muscles under his hands and looks up to see Richard’s eyes closed. Wrapping his fingers around the girth, he moves his fist slowly, up then down. Richard groans quietly in appreciation.  
  
James pulls his hand away, the mattress dipping as he shifts his weight until he’s leaning over the other man. He leans down, and his lips make contact with Richard’s just as his hand curls lightly around his cock.  
  
Richard gasps against his mouth and James tightens his hand, just a bit, stroking softly. He lets his lips wander, along Richard’s cheek, down his jaw, to his collarbone.  
  
“What about you, James?” Richard asks, already a bit breathless.  
  
“What about me?” he mumbles against soft, warm skin.  
  
“T-ah, trousers.”  
  
“Not fair that Richard’s naked and you’re not,” Jeremy adds, his own voice sounding odd.  
  
James sits up reluctantly, hands going to his belt. He thinks about asking Jeremy to join them in their nudity, but he can see apprehension lurking there behind the bluster.  
  
Distracted by his thoughts, he doesn’t realize Richard’s keen on helping him until small fingers nudge up against his at his waist. “C’mon, slowcoach.” He lets Richard loosen his belt and his trousers, then slips away to stand next to the bed. He finishes stripping then returns to the bed without waiting for any reaction. He can feel eyes on him, but he doesn’t glance up, doesn’t want to be reminded that his friends’ preferences lie elsewhere.  
  
He settles himself over Richard again, the other man’s arms going around his shoulders as he leans down to mouth at a shoulder. He can feel long, cool fingers – Jeremy’s - trail down his back, the cuff of a shirt just brushing the curve of his arse, before beginning their journey back to his neck.  
  
He kisses his way across defined pectoral muscles, laving each nipple into a pert, hard peak. “Jesus, James,” Richard gasps as James begin nosing his way down the slightly soft stomach, tongue reaching out, touching, tasting.  
  
Just above his destination, he breathes in, taking in Richard’s smell, calming his rapidly beating heart. He can feel Richard’s hands on top of his head, on the side of his face. Soothing and caressing, not demanding.  
  
He’d never really put much thought into his preference, but James finds himself relieved to note that while Richard clearly takes grooming seriously across his entire body, James isn’t looking at bare, shaved skin down here. He’d feel…cheated, somehow.  
  
His fingers brush along Richard’s thighs, the hair crinkling under his fingertips. He presses his lips against the moist skin of inner thigh and just takes a moment.  
  
“I-If…” James stops and clears his throat. “I apologize if I’m really bad at this.”  
  
“James….” Richard begins.  
  
“Even a bad blowjob’s pretty fucking good,” Jeremy answers with a leer.  
  
James thinks about disputing that, reminding his friends that he knows exactly what it’s like to be…close…to someone whose mind and companionship you’re far more interested in than her body, but only smiles slightly. At least his friends aren’t trying to fool themselves.  
  
Propping himself up on one elbow, fingers curled around the base, James takes a tentative lick down the side and around the head. A quiet, pleased sound from Richard gives him the confidence to continue, kissing and licking the soft skin while stroking gently with his hand. Some combination of this would probably be enough, Richard probably isn’t expecting much, but he’s not got his mates into this for “good enough.”  
  
He hears a pair of surprised gasps as he closes his lips over the head: low and gruff and surprisingly turned-on from Jeremy, soft and satisfied from Richard.  
  
It tastes…good, he’s relieved to note. Dark and musky and, well, like Richard. It’s heavy on his tongue, and warm and alive, and he can provoke stunning reactions from Richard with just a flick of his tongue, and  _Oh, Christ, why did I wait so long for this?_  
  
“James,” Richard whispers, fingers tightening briefly in his hair, as James begins to move his mouth.  
  
As much as James wants this to be good, he also couldn’t stand failing, so he keeps his movements shallow, compensating with his fingers for what length he won’t attempt to put in his mouth.  
  
James tries to replicate something with his tongue an old girlfriend had favored, and watches one of Richard’s hands drops to the bed, fingers twisting in the bed sheets. “F-fuck, James.”  
  
Saliva spills from his mouth, ending in a puddle along his hand, easing the friction. Each gasp and pant and swear and cry from Richard makes James’ own cock throb in anticipation. He finds himself pressing his groin against the mattress to ease his ache.  
  
Then Jeremy’s hand is on him again, rubbing at his shoulders, his neck. Those long fingers make their way into his hair and he can’t help but hum in appreciation.  
  
“Yes, fuck yes, do that again.”  
  
James does, changing up his rhythm, taking Richard just a bit deeper until it starts to feel uncomfortable.  
  
Eventually, jaw tiring, he slips his lips off the end and makes his way down the length, licking each centimeter of skin, finding the spots that make Richard’s hips lift off the bed. Rhythmically moving his slick hand, he wraps his lips carefully around one testicle, the side of Richard’s cock leaving a wet trail against his cheek.  
  
“M-May, fuck, yes, James.” Richard’s head tilts back, skin flushed along the underside of his neck. “I’m – I’m close, James. Fuck.” Richard pants.  
  
James wants to finish this the right way; he has to know. His fingers move to take the place of his lips, gently massaging the left testicle, as his lips slide once again over the head.  
  
Richard’s body tenses below him as he wills himself not to thrust into James’ mouth. His fingers finally give up their grip on the bedclothes and reach out, fist opening and closing. It takes James a moment to work out what he’s asking for, but finally he reaches out his own hand and takes it. Richard’s fingers twine with James’, then rest themselves on his hip.  
  
Fingers clenching, Richard lets out one last warning, then begins to come in James’ mouth with a sharp cry.  
  
He twitches a bit in surprise when it first hits his tongue, but James swallows it all, even licks once around the head for good measure – with Richard letting out an “Oh fuck, James” as he lets it slip from his mouth.  
  
Richard’s never been more beautiful, lying here naked, spent, panting. Smiling.  
  
James smiles back, awkwardly, and lies between his friends.  
  
“Mate, that, that,” Richard’s fingers curl around James’ bicep, “that was incredible. Thank you.” Still panting, he leans in and presses a chaste, but heartfelt, kiss against his lips. “Mmm.”  
  
“What – uh – what’s that taste like?” Jeremy asks. James tilts his head to the side and regards him with wary eyes.  
  
“Pretty much the same as when you kiss a girl after she’s gone down on you. Only…more.”  
  
Jeremy’s eyes flick away quickly. “I’ve…I’ve never done that.”  
  
James turns toward Richard, eyebrow lifted. “You mind?”  
  
Richard huffs a laugh out his nose. “Not at all.”  
  
He rolls onto his side, facing Jeremy, and asks, with a huskiness to his voice he isn’t used to hearing, “Want to find out?”  
  
This kiss with Jeremy is miles different than the ones before. James can finally feel the other man’s arousal, the short breaths out his nose against James’ upper lip, the stiff way he’s holding his body. There’s no hesitation from his tongue this time, either, and Jeremy seems determined to discover what they taste like, his tongue nearly mapping out the inside of James’ mouth.  
  
When they finally break apart, Jeremy presses his forehead against James’ bare shoulder and lets out a long, loud exhale.  
  
“We too much for you, mate?” Richard asks with a snort. He even sounds sated. And a little smug.  _I did that._  
  
Jeremy lifts his head but keeps his gaze toward James’ collarbone. “I –uh – I might need a minute before I can….”  
  
James runs a hand over Jeremy’s head, scratching gently at the back of his head, as he answers softly, “I think I can take care of that.” He turns his head toward Richard, his face falling against the other man’s fevered skin. “You, er, you okay with that? I mean…?” What was the protocol in this situation? Normally, it was assumed that James would participate – willingly or not - in some post-coital cuddling with his girlfriend, but only Richard was post-coital – James and Jeremy weren’t even mid-coital, really – and Richard was definitely not his girlfriend.  
  
Richard chuckles and stretches languidly. “Yeah, James, I’m all right with that. I had my orgasm; it’s time for you and Jez to have your fun.”  
  
“You – you’ll be here?” The words spill from James’ lips before he’s even aware he’s thinking them. He’s not sure why this seems so much less daunting with both his mates with him.  
  
Warm fingers run along the length of James’ arm. “I’ll be right here, mate.”

\--

With a grateful smile, James quickly squeezes Richard’s fingers, then kneels between the other two men, near Jeremy’s hip. He’s aware of his nakedness again, of his erection, aware of Jeremy’s eyes flicking down his body then nervously back to…well, if not his eyes, at least his left ear. “May I touch you, Jez?”  
  
Jeremy licks his lips and swallows hard, finally focusing on James’ gaze. “Yeah.”  
  
He doesn’t go for Jeremy’s groin, or his nipples, or any other usual erogenous zone, instead taking Jeremy’s right hand in his. He trails his thumb along the back of Jeremy’s hand, over the dark veins under pale skin. Eyes still on Jeremy’s, he thumbs over Clarkson’s pulse point, feels the rapid beating of his heart. Then Jeremy tangles their fingers together and brings them to his chest. “C’mon, May. What’re you waiting for?”  
  
James chuckles quietly, sheepishly. “I think I’m postponing the moment where Jeremy Clarkson can say he’s fucked my arse.”  
  
“As if I’m going to be writing my next column about this.” Threading his fingers in James’ hair, he tugs gently and murmurs, “C’mere.”  
  
James lies down, leg tangled between Jeremy’s, their chests pressed together. He’s hard against Jeremy’s hip and hopes that doesn’t freak the other man out. It’s different, being naked and pressed against someone who’s fully clothed, someone as large and warm and so strangely sexy as Jeremy, and when their lips finally meet, he can’t help but shift slightly, creating a little friction against his penis.  
  
“S-sorry,” he mumbles.  
  
“Stop it, Slow,” the other man answers against his lips.  
  
Now it’s Richard’s turn to idly stroke his back as he kisses Jeremy. Hammond’s not so shy, though; his fingers and palm actually trail down the length of his arse and to the top of his thigh. Then there’s another, larger hand, actually cupping his buttock. James pulls back, eyes wide in surprise, and Jeremy grins back shyly.  
  
“I thought – I thought you were going to touch me.”  
  
James frowns, confused. “I am touch…. Oh.” He smiles. “Right.”  
  
He watches Jeremy’s face as his hand first cups the burgeoning bulge under the faded denim. His eyelids flutter shut, his jaw tightens. With one hand still rubbing the hardening cock, James sits up, and uses the other hand to begin unbuttoning Jeremy’s shirt. When he gets to the last button, he tugs the fabric from the waistband of Jeremy’s jeans and lets it fall open.  
  
James knows he shouldn’t find that pale potbelly attractive, but he can’t help it. Without thinking, he lays one hand flat on either side of his bellybutton, leans down and presses a long kiss to the center of the slope.  
  
When he finally lifts his head, it’s to find Jeremy staring back at him. “That’s what does it for you?” he asks, doubtful.  
  
James clears his throat and rubs at his nose with the back of his hand. “Only when it’s attached to an opinionated braggart with beautiful eyes and a surprisingly big heart.”  
  
“You’ve got issues, James,” Jeremy says softly, wrapping his fingers around James’ wrist and rubbing his thumb along the back of his hand.  
  
James’ lips quirk in a smile. “I am aware.” Swallowing, he pulls gently at the crumpled hem of Jeremy’s shirt. “Off?”  
  
Jeremy sits briefly, shrugging his shirt off and tossing it to the floor before lying back. James takes his belt in his fingers and starts to slowly loosen it, giving Jeremy time to stop him if he wants.  
  
“I – I…. James?”  
  
“Hmm?” James stops his fingers and looks up.  
  
Jeremy isn’t looking at him, is instead looking somewhere near James’ dressing table. “I – I’m not….”  
  
James knows, has seen the other man turned on before, knows what the bulge beneath his friend’s trousers looks like. This is Jeremy after driving a surprisingly fun Fiesta, not Jeremy lusting after his GT.  
  
“Told you I’d take care of it. Trust me?” Jeremy finally meets his eyes, and James can tell he hears what he’s really saying. Not “trust that my meager homosexual skills can turn you on,” but “trust that I won’t take the piss or make you feel worse.”  
  
Jeremy nods, and James turns back to working on his belt. “Not that I should be turned on, anyway,” Jeremy mumbles, “with no beautiful women here to tempt me.”  
  
With a grin, James tugs Jeremy’s jeans down with more force than necessary, causing the other man to sputter incoherently. “Pants, Jezza?”  
  
“I’ll do it.” Quickly, like ripping off a plaster, Jeremy pulls his boxers down and off, leaving him naked. In James’ bed.  
  
Even mostly soft, he’s beautiful. And fat, and pale, and hairy, and strangely proportioned. But mostly beautiful. James lies beside him, hand in the center of his chest. “Jeremy,” he whispers, running his thumb over that saggy jaw line and pressing a kiss to the warm, soft shoulder. “May I make you feel good?” His mostly successful turn with Richard has given him a bit of confidence, apparently.  
  
Jeremy turns his head until his forehead touches James’. “What do you want to do?”  
  
“I want to use my mouth on you. For a bit. And my hands. Remember my hands, Jeremy?”  
  
Jeremy’s eyes widen. “You’re getting the hang of this sexy-talk, James.”  
  
James smiles happily. “’M just being honest.” He waits silently, patiently, until Jeremy nods.  
  
Shifting awkwardly onto his knees, James tries to forget about his erection bobbing in front of him. He glances briefly at Richard, the other man lounging on his side, a soft smile on his face, watching the proceedings with interest.  
  
James shuffles backwards, finally kneeling next to Jeremy’s hip. His fingers reach for Jeremy’s pale shoulders, seemingly of their own accord, and massage gently down the lengths of his arms.  
  
“Get over here,” Jeremy groans after a minute, tapping on James hip.  
  
“Where?”  
  
“That looks incredibly awkward. Just – just c’mere.”  
  
“Y’mean…? Over you?”  
  
“Yeah. C’mon.”  
  
“I – I might….”  
  
“James, I’m supposed to fuck you in a bit. If I can’t handle your cock brushing against my stomach occasionally, I don’t see that happening, do you?”  
  
James feels a brief squeeze of his leg and looks down to see Richard smiling encouraging at him.  
  
“All right,” he says as he moves to straddle the other man’s thighs. His hands take over where they’d left off, rubbing over Jeremy’s chest and down his stomach, as he leans down and lets his lips brush over a nipple.  
  
“Fuck,” Jeremy whispers hoarsely.  
  
James smiles against the skin and does it again, more seriously this time. And again, his fingers pinching the other one in tandem.  
  
“Good, James. So good.”  
  
He wants to travel south along Jeremy’s body, along the acres of pale, desirable flesh, but there’s something he wants first, more. He leans forward until they’re chest to chest, his lips pressed against Jeremy’s jaw. He kisses again, and again, as he moves down the long neck until he reaches the curve of his neck. He rests his face there, breathing deeply, lips brushing against warm skin.  
  
At the first touch of fingers against his scalp, he twitches, before relaxing with a contented sigh.  
  
“You like that,” Jeremy says quietly.  
  
“Hmm?”  
  
“Fingers in your hair. You like it.”  
  
“Yeah. Always have. It’s not sexual, it just - it just feels good.”  
  
Jeremy hums thoughtfully. After a moment of stillness, the body beneath James’ shifts slightly, minutely, as if Jeremy were trying to hide it.  
  
James lifts himself up a bit and nibbles carefully along the sharp collarbone.  
  
“M-May,” Jeremy gasps. James smiles against his skin.  
  
Not surprisingly, Jeremy takes his personal grooming less seriously than Richard, but as James moves his mouth down Jeremy’s body – kissing, licking, sucking, biting – and toward his cock, he finds he really doesn’t mind.  
  
“Christ, Clarkson,” he mutters as he presses his nose into the warm, humid skin where groin meets belly. He licks along the soft skin of Jeremy’s cock, feels it twitch under his tongue, then traces along the curved line of a testicle as he curls his hand around hardening cock.  
  
“James, James. Please.”  
  
“What do you want?” he murmurs, warm breath ghosting over Jeremy’s skin, prompting another delicate lurch.  
  
“Ju- just touch me. God.”  
  
He feels fingers in his hair again as his lips fall over the head, and then a gentle tugging.  
  
“Easy, Jez,” Richard warns quietly.  
  
“So good, Rich.”  
  
Richard chuckles kindly. “He  **is**  good. But if you hurt him, he’s likely to bite your bollocks off.”  
  
James smiles around the cock in his mouth, and hums in amusement. Then, remembering how much Richard had enjoyed that, he does it again as his lips slide further down the shaft.  _We’re definitely getting somewhere now._  
  
It’s the work of minutes before Jeremy is completely hard and pushing James away from his cock with careful fingers on the side of his face.  
  
“Too good,” he gasps. “Won’t last if you keep it up.”  
  
“Well, we wouldn’t want that, would we?” James asks as he crawls up Jeremy’s body and drops a kiss on his lips.  
  
A slightly dazed look on his face, Jeremy shakes his head.  
  
His boldness and confidence suddenly gone, James asks, “What…what happens now?”  
  
“Oh, God!” Richard cries. “Tell me I’m not going to have to give you the gay sex talk.”  
  
“No, I – I  **know**  what happens now, Hammond. I just…. I wasn’t sure what, what Jeremy wanted.”  
  
Jeremy breathes deeply, then lets out a long, slow breath. Then quickly, the words nearly running together, “I want you to lie where I am, and then I’m – I’m going to get you ready for my cock, May.”  
  
 _Christ._  James blinks rapidly. “You – you don’t have to do that,” he says just as quickly. “I can…I can take care of that.”  
  
Jeremy touches the side of James’ face. “Are you saying that because you don’t want me to? Or you think it’s what I want you to say?”  
  
“You don’t want to do that, Jeremy. It’s – it’s not…. I can do it. I don’t mind.”  
  
“This isn’t about you ‘not minding,’ James. Come on, lie down.”  
  
With Richard looking on attentively, the older men shuffle along the bed until Jeremy is sitting and James is lying in the warm space Jeremy’d just vacated.  
  
Jeremy hovers over James’ body, their faces close. James can smell the tobacco and beer on his breath as he says, “If I’m going to do this, I’m going to do this right. I don’t want you telling…Nigel or Rupert or Alistair or whoever…that I was your first and I was rubbish.”  
  
“As if I’d ever have sex with someone named ‘Alistair,’” James replies haughtily, trying to hide his nervousness, but fairly certain he hasn’t succeeded, especially when he notices his fingers are gripping Jeremy’s arms tightly. He relaxes his grip and sighs.  
  
“I’m going to ask you something, and I want you to answer without thinking. Okay?”  
  
James nods.  
  
“What do you want?”  
  
“I want – I want your fingers inside me, Jeremy. God, your hands….”  
  
Jeremy’s eyes slip shut, and James is worried he’s messed it all up until they open again and his lips are taken in a bruising kiss.  
  
Hands roam down his body, and it takes but a moment to realize they’re a mismatched pair, that Richard’s joined in. “No one’s really touched you, yet,” he murmurs in James’ ear. “You deserve to be touched.”  
  
And they do touch him – not his cock, but their hands and lips on his arms, his chest, his stomach, and his thighs – until he’s nearly quivering with lust. It’s as if they discussed it – and they probably did – but even with all three of them involved, Jeremy and Richard are devoting all of their attention to him. He’d love to see them together, kissing or touching, but that’s probably too much to ask.  
  
“Please,” he whispers hoarsely when it’s about to become too much.  
  
“I need lube. Condom,” Jeremy says, sitting up, and his matter-of-factness pulls James back to reality.  
  
“Bedside table.” He gestures past Richard with his head. After a moment, Richard drops the items onto the bed between them.  
  
James swallows loudly and risks a glance at Jeremy, who’s looking back, his own fear evident in his eyes.  
  
“I – I don’t…I’ve never done this,” Jeremy says. “I mean, not even to a woman.”  
  
“I trust you, Jez,” James says simply.  
  
His mate snorts. “Why?”  
  
James reaches out, his hand landing on Jeremy’s thigh. “You’re an arse, but you don’t like to see me hurting,” he reminds him.  
  
“I hate it.”  
  
James smiles. “I know.”  
  
“And anyway,” Richard interjects, “you’ve got me, and I do know what I’m doing.”  
  
“Right,” Jeremy teases gently, “because you like it up the arse.”  
  
Richard rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Come on. Slick up your fingers.”  
  
“I do get the general idea,” Jeremy grumbles, coating his fingers in lube and holding them up for Richard’s inspection. At Richard’s nod, he turns toward James. “Ready?”  
  
A couple of long, slow breaths, then James is nodding, bending his knees until his feet rest flat on the bed with enough room for Jeremy to sit between them. “Yeah.”  
  
The first finger doesn’t hurt, it’s just…intrusive. Weird. Uncomfortable. But Jeremy – for once – is slow and careful, and eventually the idea of another finger being able to fit in there becomes a plausible one.  
  
“More,” he says, finally, because he wants to move this along and he’s not sure Jeremy will without his say-so.  
  
“Y’sure?” Jeremy asks, and though James’ focus has been more on the ceiling than either of the other men, he can see the older man seek out Richard’s opinion with his eyes.  
  
“You’re – you’re kinda just gonna have to listen to him and trust him, Jez.”  
  
“You’re sure?” Jeremy repeats.  
  
He looks down then, between his knees at his friend sitting there, one finger in his arse, and can’t help but snort at the picture it makes. Jeremy smiles and covers one kneecap with his palm, rubbing his thumb absently along James’ skin. “I’m sure, Jez.”  
  
The second finger is far less pleasant, and he can’t keep a small puff of discomfort from escaping his lips.  
  
“Okay?” Jeremy asks, halting his hand.  
  
“’M good now.” It’s mostly true. It doesn’t hurt, but he’s beginning to wonder if maybe he shouldn’t have done some experimenting of his own. Maybe, though being gay definitely  **is**  him – tonight has proven that if there’d been any remaining doubt – maybe  **this**  isn’t, despite all his fantasies to the contrary. He’d have tried some stuff, to be sure, it’s just that once the idea of having his friends like this first entered his mind, the thought of anything less seemed unattractive.  
  
“You’re – is this okay for you?” Jeremy asks after a few moments.  
  
“It’s fine.”  
  
“Okay.” It doesn’t sound like Jeremy really believes him. “Only, you’re…you seem tense.”  
  
“M’fine. I – I just…. I want this.” It’s hard to make him – anyone – understand.  
  
“I know.” That hand on James’ kneecap squeezes comfortingly. “Do – is it…?” Jeremy sighs. “I know I said this” – he nods in the direction of his hand between James’ legs – “should be part of this, but if you’d really rather feel more comfortable doing this yourself, we can step out of the room for a minute. Or leave you alone under the covers, or – or whatever.”  
  
“No. This is fine. I mean, if you don’t mind.”  
  
That large palm moves to glide over his shin. “Then…? Is there anything I can do? To make this better, easier?”  
  
James closes his eyes against the sting of failure. “I just – just have to shut my fucking traitorous mind up for a bit.”  
  
“Too many years convincing yourself this isn’t what you wanted, mate?” Richard asks, laying his fingers across James’ arm.  
  
James opens his eyes and turns his head to smile at Richard. “That’s it exactly.”  
  
Jeremy and Richard exchange glances.  
  
“C’mon, I’ve got an idea,” Jeremy says suddenly, carefully removing his fingers from James’ body. “Roll onto your side. Toward Hammond.”  
  
“What?”  
  
Richard must understand because his hands are gently coaxing James toward him.  
  
Once James is situated, Jeremy curls behind him and Richard moves closer, cocooning him between two warm, male, sexy bodies.  _Oh, God._  Jeremy leans in, pressing his nose against James’ neck, rubbing his shoulder blade with one hand and running his hand along his flank with the other.  
  
The ends of Richard’s fingers hesitantly trail along the length of James’ cock.  
  
“It won’t bite,” James says, with understanding.  
  
Richard grins and boldly wraps his fingers around James’ cock, and he can’t help thrusting into the feeling. “Fuck,” he murmurs.  
  
“Yours doesn’t bite?” Richard says with a laugh. “You didn’t get the deluxe model then.”  
  
“No biting. But – oh, Christ – if you rub it the right way, it’ll spit.”  
  
Richard’s smile gets wider as he chuckles, and he moves his fist. “I’ll distract you while Jeremy…you know.”  
  
Jeremy’s breath is warm against James’ bare neck as he carefully slips one then another finger inside him. “Better?”  
  
“Much,” he breathes. They were right. With Richard’s hand on his cock, his body’s pleasure is enough to overpower his mind’s stupid ideas of what activities are or aren’t prudent.  
  
It feels better – so much – but it isn’t until the third finger gently enters him that he starts to understand the fuss. Jeremy stops the movement of his hand, and begins babbling apologies against his neck until James grips his thigh and says his name loudly.  
  
“You cried out.”  
  
“Not - not in pain.”  
  
Jeremy’s relief is palpable, and James hopes – more for his friend’s sake than his own – that the rest of this goes without major incident. “You’ll let me know if it hurts?  
  
“I’ll let you know if I need you to stop.”  
  
“That’s not the same thing, Slow.”  
  
“Jeremy,” Richard says, carefully. “You’re probably going to hurt him. Just a bit. No matter what you do…. It’s the first time, and….” He glances down at James and gives him a comforting smile before he looks back up. “It’ll be just a bit, and it’ll be worth it in the end, but there’s not really any way around it.”  
  
James cranes his neck to look over his shoulder and manages to kiss Jeremy’s chin. Getting the idea, Jeremy leans down, enabling their lips to meet. “See how I could never have done this with some bloke I picked up in a pub? It has to be someone I know. And trust,” James murmurs against his lips.  
  
Ducking his head, Jeremy nudges his nose against James’ shoulder. “I never liked having sex with virgins,” he mumbles.  
  
“Fuck you, Clarkson,” James retorts with a laugh.  
  
Jeremy grins back.  
  
“Move your fingers,” James orders. It takes a few passes, but eventually Jeremy finds that spot again, and again James is crying out softly. This time, Jeremy takes it for what it is and presses a smile against James’ shoulder blade.  
  
His next exhalation is caught by Richard’s lips, and then he forgets to keep track.  
  
“Okay. It’s time now, Jeremy.”  
  
Jeremy’s fingers are too slick with lube to open the condom wrapper, so, laughing, he has to hand it to Richard. “You can handle putting it on, though, right, mate?” Richard asks with a smirk.  
  
Jeremy grumbles something about not being incompetent then lies behind James again. James can feel cold fingers easing his arse cheeks apart then a blunt, hard object behind aligned with his hole.  
  
“Wait.”  
  
Jeremy stops immediately and pulls his hips back until his cock isn’t in contact with James. “What?”  
  
James chews the skin on his bottom lip for a moment, as Richard’s hand ghosts over his hip. “I – I have to see you.”  
  
Jeremy sits up and leans over so James can see his grin. “Don’t think you’ll ever hear me say this again, Slow, but do you wanna drive?”  
  
James rolls onto his back, and smiles back, shaking his head. “I – I want…. I want to feel you above me, your weight pressing down on me,” he says, softly, cheeks burning at his frankness.  
  
“All right.” Jeremy nods uncertainly.  
  
Richard reaches past James for the remaining pillow and hands it to him. “Shove this under your hips.”  
  
James does so then takes Jeremy’s hand. “You – you can close your eyes, pretend I’m someone else. If you want,” he offers quietly.  
  
Jeremy’s eyes narrow slightly, and he moves to cover James, leaning in until they’re nose to nose, his breath warm on James’ face. “You didn’t say that to Richard.”  
  
James’ face flushes. “No, I, er, I didn’t think he’d….”  
  
“I wouldn’t be here if I needed it to be someone else. I know it’s not what I….” He sighs, frustrated. “You enjoyed sex with Sarah, yeah? I mean, in some way? Even though it wasn’t what….”  
  
“Yeah.” And he had. He’d known deep down – and not that deep down, really – that it was wrong for him, but he couldn’t help enjoy the closeness. And of course, physically, an orgasm’s an orgasm, no matter which gender you’re participating with. Or, at least he’s always assumed so.  
  
“Okay then.” Jeremy hesitates, the flaring of his nostrils and rapid blinking of his eyes giving away his indecision, then leans in and kisses James briefly. “Okay,” he says again, softly, as he sits up. His gaze focused on the sheet next to James’ head, he takes his own cock in hand and strokes a few times, returning himself to full-mast.  
  
Then he shifts his body, getting closer, then again changing positions slightly. Eventually, James has to say something.  
  
“Now you’re the one who’s nervous, Clarkson. You’re stalling.”  
  
Jeremy finally looks at him. “It’s not that I’m nervous. Okay, yes, of course I’m nervous, James. It’s – this isn’t something I’m taking lightly.”  
  
“You can still change your mind.”  _But please don’t. I want you._  
  
Jeremy lifts one eyebrow. “I’ve had my fingers up your arse, James; I’m not going to stop until I’ve at least experienced the good bit.”  
  
Smiling, James curls his fingers around the slope of Jeremy’s shoulder. “Fuck me, Jeremy.”  
  
As soon as the words are out of his mouth, James worries that he’ll see panic on Jeremy’s face, or revulsion, at such a stark reminder of what they’re about to do, but Jeremy merely closes his eyes, swallowing hard. And when they open again, they’re bright, and he leans down to press a kiss to James’ forehead.  
  
As the head of Jeremy’s cock first breaches his body, James can’t help but close his eyes. He’s expecting pain, and there is a bit, but it’s mostly the same as having Jeremy’s fingers inside him, only more intense.  
  
“James?” Jeremy whispers softly, his body stilled.  
  
“’M okay,” James answers, eyes still closed.  
  
There’s warmth against his side as Richard slides closer, curling his body along the length of James’, fingers twining with his. A bony chin pokes into his shoulder as Richard leans in and begins talking to him, telling him softly to relax.  
  
“Move,” he hears himself say.  
  
Jeremy does, slowly, sliding in a bit at a time, then pulling slowly back and repeating the process until he’s finally flush against James’ body.  
  
James opens his eyes then. If the feeling of Jeremy inside him had been powerful, the sight is tenfold. The other man’s face is flush, bottom lip held between his teeth, a thin sheen of sweat already breaking out along his hairline. “Jezza,” he breathes, reaching out with his free hand to cup the side of his face.  
  
Jeremy turns his head and presses his mouth to the center of James’ palm. His hips stutter involuntarily, pulling a sharply drawn breath out of James.  
  
“Fuck,” Jeremy groans quietly. “I – I can’t.” He swallows. “I don’t think I can hold still much longer. I’m sorry, I….”  
  
“Shh. S’okay. Move. Please, Jeremy.” His hand slides from Jeremy’s face, down his neck and shoulders, and finally curves around his upper arm.  
  
“So tight,” Jeremy murmurs as begins to thrust slowly, carefully. “Christ, so good.”  
  
“Yes,” is all James can say. “Yes.”  
  
It takes a bit, but eventually Jeremy finds a steady rhythm, finds a way to hold his large body in a position that doesn’t strain his probably aching back and hips or crush James beneath him and which also has him panting in pleasure as much as effort.  
  
It’s incredible, everything James could have ever hoped for. But after one moan that had seemed overly loud amongst the mostly quiet exclamations coming from above him, he’s held back, eyes shut. He’s unsure why, it just seems the right thing to do, safer somehow.  
  
Then he hears Jeremy’ voice, gruff but concerned. “You all right?”  
  
James nods but doesn’t open his eyes.  
  
He can feel by the change in angle and the addition of Jeremy’s warm breath on his face and his weight pressing more firmly against him that he’s moved closer, their faces nearly touching now. “Tell me. Let me know what’s good for you, and what’s not.”  
  
James’ only reaction is a slight tightening of his fingers on Jeremy’s upper arms. “C’mon,” Jeremy whispers, lips brushing against his temple. “I’m not going to mock. I want to know. C’mon, don’t hold back, Slow. Open your eyes and talk to me.”  
  
A large hand twines in James’ hair as Jeremy continues murmuring.  _Oh, great. This is how it’s going to be from now on. Clarkson’s going to shove his fingers in my hair and stare down at me until I give in to whatever horrible, highly flammable idea he has._  A strange part of him can’t wait.  
  
James opens his eyes slowly to find Jeremy grinning nervously back at him.  
  
“That’s it. Come on, James.”  
  
He cries out softly, wordlessly, back arching, as the hard cock inside him again brushes his prostate. “Fuck. Feels so good, Jezza. So good. Please.” He’s not even sure what he’s pleading for, but Jeremy’s smile grows more confident, and he leans down to claim James’ lips in an intense kiss.  
  
It feels good – insanely good – like this, pressed chest to chest, belly to belly, lips to lips, his hands roaming along Jeremy’s shoulders and back, but Jeremy is only able to move in short, slow staccato bursts, and it’s physically demanding. Eventually he has to push back, hands and forearms pressed into the bed on either side of James to hold himself up.  
  
James gasps when short fingers curl themselves around his cock. “Thought I’d make myself useful,” Richard chuckles. Then he glances at Jeremy. “And you’d better not collapse on me and break my fucking hand, mate.”  
  
Jeremy rolls his eyes and pushes in, hard. “Shit,” James moans. “Do that again.” He wraps his arms tighter around Jeremy, fingers scrabbling at his back, his knees digging into his sides.  
  
Chuckling amidst his pants, Jeremy does, pulling another loud moan from James and a grunt from himself.  
  
“James,” he breathes.  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Can you do something for me?”  
  
“Anything.”  
  
Jeremy’s eyes drift shut for a moment. When he opens them, he stares straight at James. “If you’re with someone, and he” – he pauses and sucks in a gulp of air – “fuck, and he doesn’t realize how lucky he is to – to have you like this….”  
  
James whispers, “Jeremy,” and runs his fingers through the sweaty curls on the side of his head.  
  
“Then you send him to me, all right?”  
  
James smiles and blinks back grateful tears. “All right.”  
  
He feels warm lips against his shoulder and looks over to see Richard’s big brown eyes looking back at him. “Jezza’s right, you know.”  
  
He turns his head and tilts it to capture Richard’s lips in a soft kiss. “Thanks,” he whispers against his mouth.  
  
Jeremy’s an old man – they’re both old men – and he’s already lasted longer than James had expected by the time he whispers that he doesn’t think he can hold back too much longer. James can feel his own orgasm creeping up on him, and he knows that all it’ll take is Richard speeding up his hand and it’ll all be over for him as well.  
  
“It’s okay, Jeremy. God, it’s okay.” He runs his hands again down the pale expanse of Jeremy’s back, along his shoulders. In his mind, he can see every freckle, every dimple, and he wishes he could run his palms along the arse he’s only seen encased in denim, could squeeze the round flesh in his hands.  
  
“No, it’s…. What – what do you want?” James knows what he’s asking: If James wants to try something – a different position or speed or whatever – it has to be now.  
  
Jeremy’s big body is pressing him against the mattress as he thrusts into him with firm, steady strokes; Richard’s curled up beside him, fisting his cock in perfect counter-rhythm. What does he want?  
  
“This. Exactly this.” _Forever._  
  
Jeremy makes a sound between a sob and a grunt and nods. Then he’s gasping Richard’s name and the other man picks up the pace of his hand.  
  
“Mmm. Fuck, I’m close. Yes, Richard, fuck, Jez, I – I, oh….” He begins to spill out over Richard’s fingers and onto his own chest and stomach, his toes curling, his fingers clenching spasmodically at Jeremy’s arms.  
  
Above him, Jeremy’s eyes flutter shut, his neck and back arch backwards, and he too begins to come, grunting and cursing.  
  
Richard had been right to be concerned about his hand as Jeremy hardly finishes before he’s collapsing in a barely-controlled fall against James’ chest. His face comes to rest in the crook of James’ neck, gasping great lung fulls of air.  
  
James’ hand splays across his back, rising and falling with each of Jeremy’s short breaths. He closes his eyes and turns his head, forehead pressing against Richard’s, and waits. For his friends to pull away, for the spell to be broken, for him to be alone again.  
  
It’s only about a minute before Jeremy groans loudly and manages to lift himself up and pull out carefully. James hides a wince against Richard at the loss and listens to the sound of a condom being removed and tossed into the bin. Then Jeremy slides himself off James and onto the bed beside him, bracketing James between his mates.  
  
James takes this as his cue to move, too, opening his eyes and sitting up. He awkwardly removes the pillow from under his hips, and – ignoring the fact that he should really wash it before he sleeps on it – flips it over and shoves it behind him.  
  
“Holy hell, James,” Jeremy murmurs tiredly, pressing his face into James' hip. Then he turns his face slightly and looks up. “Okay?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Did I do good?”  
  
James drags his fingers down the side of Jeremy’s face once, while it’s still okay to do so, and huffs a laugh. “You did good, Jezza. Thank you. And you,” he says to Richard.  
  
Jeremy smiles tiredly before closing his eyes. In but a moment, he’s asleep.  
  
A shiver washes over James from the cooling sweat and semen on his body, from being in bed – naked – with his two heterosexual mates, from an intimacy he isn’t used to, or all of the above he isn’t sure. But it’s too much.  
  
“I need a shower,” he mumbles, ignoring Richard’s quiet protests as he slips off the foot of the bed, pulls a clean pair of boxers and a t-shirt from the drawer, and steps into the hall.  
  
He takes longer in the shower than usual, slowing his heart rate, pulling all the bits of himself – heart, mind, and body - back and putting them all in order. It’s not until he’s out, and dry, teeth clean, that he finally looks in the mirror. He pulls at the sagging skin around his jaw, sweeps his fingers along the circles under his eyes. He’d expected to look different, but he doesn’t really. Until: there, in his eyes. He can see it. A bit of…contentment, maybe. A tiny piece of anxiety gone.  
  
Richard’s the only one in bed when he returns, a simple pair of blue boxers the only thing covering him save the sheet draped across his calves. He’s lying back against the pillow, one arm folded beneath his head, the television remote in the other hand as he flips through the channels.  
  
“Fuck, you’re gorgeous.” The words slip out of James’ mouth unbidden, causing a flush to rise up his cheeks. He’d wanted to say it before, when Richard was first laid bare before him, but something – nervousness, uncertainty – had held him back.  
  
Richard just smiles at him – a real, honest, pleased smile – and pats the bed beside him. “Jezza’s using the other shower.”  
  
James sits, crosslegged, in the space next to Richard. “This one’s free. If you want it.”  
  
“Want to make sure you’re okay, first.”  
  
“Said I was, didn’t I?”  
  
Richard shuts the telly off with a click and rolls onto his side. “Yeah, but you’re James. I never know what ‘okay’ really is with you.”  
  
“Well I’m fine. Jez was surprisingly careful, and….”  
  
“Not what I meant, mate. I mean, yeah, I’m glad to know you don’t hurt, but I was here. I knew that. Wanted to know what’s going on up here.” He rests his fingers against his own temple.  
  
“I – honestly, Hammond, it’s…complicated. But I’m all right. Really all right, not just ‘James May All Right’. I’m more sure than ever that this is who I am. And that it’s okay.”  
  
“I think who you are is great, mate,” Richard says quietly, wrinkling his nose at the unfortunate rhyme.  
  
“How are you? I mean…Mindy. I know Jez’s got his agreement with Francie and all, but you….”  
  
Lowering his eyes to the crumpled sheets, Richard sighs. Then he sits up, mimicking James’ position. “I’ve never been with anyone else since Mindy. And, after today, I won’t ever again. But this – this was different, somehow. And I think, maybe, Mindy’d understand. I’m not going to tell her, but…. She loves you like family. We all do.”  
  
James lifts one corner of his mouth in a smile that broadens when he hears Jeremy’s lumbering steps up the stairs. “Take a shower, mate. I’m hungry.”


	6. Part 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rest of James' night with his best mates.

James awakens in the middle of the night with a feeling of confused dread. He’s overheated, trapped between two slumbering bodies, and it takes a minute to realize what’s woke him up.  _Fusker_. He went to bed without feeding the damn cat.  
  
Without stopping to wonder why he hasn’t heard any complaining meows, he awkwardly climbs over Clarkson and heads to the kitchen, stopping only to slip on his dressing gown.  
  
When Jeremy comes downstairs a few minutes later, it’s a broken and pathetic James he finds sitting on the floor near Fusker’s empty cat bed, arms around his knees.  
  
He wipes the tears from his face as Jeremy slides down the wall to sit next to him, a pained sound pushing its way past his lips.  
  
“I lied, earlier,” James says, when he finally feels he can speak without blubbering.  
  
“You’re not really a homosexualist?”  
  
A watery laugh escapes James’ mouth. “Before, when I said if you kept touching me, I didn’t know whether I’d hit you or cry?”  
  
“Ah.”  
  
“I know it was just a stupid, pikey cat, but….”  
  
“Don’t, James,” Jeremy interrupts him with a hand on his knee.  
  
“He was all I had.”  
  
“That’s just shit, James. And what’s more, you know it’s shit.”  
  
“Doesn’t feel like it, sometimes.”  
  
“I know.” The fingers on James’ knee tighten briefly before Jeremy continues, “You have us: Richard and me. Everyone at  _Top Gear_. Each of us’d do almost anything for you. And your family. And Sim and Oz, and that Colin bloke.”  
  
“’M not sure about that last one anymore.”  
  
Jeremy slings an arm across his shoulders. “He’ll come round. And if he doesn’t, he wasn’t worth you, anyway.”  
  
“You’ve been nice to me for weeks. Please stop; it’s disconcerting.” Despite his words, James leans into the comforting body next to him, resting his head on his shoulder.  
  
“All right, you big homo.”  
  
James chuckles. “That’s so much better.”  
  
Jeremy pulls him closer and rests his other hand on the side of James’ head, fingers twisting in his hair. “Even though you are a giant fairy, a sartorial nightmare, an annoying pedant, and a….” There’s a strange sound, and it takes James a moment to realize it’s the sound of Jeremy swallowing nervously. “I do love you. You know that, right?”  
  
James can feel more tears brimming to the surface. “Yeah.” He barely recognizes his own voice.  
  
There’s silence then Jeremy jostles him gently. “You could say it back, you know. It's not like I don't already know.”  
  
Even though he can hear in his voice that he’s mostly teasing, James pulls back and stands, suddenly annoyed. “Exactly. You already know, so why must I say it?”  
  
So quietly James can barely hear, Jeremy answers, “Because it's nice to hear. And usually when you say it, you get to hear it back.”  
  
“Not always,” James mutters.  
  
There’s a grunting sound as Jeremy tries to push himself up. “You’re a…fuck, James, help me.” James gives him his hand and helps lever Jeremy off the floor. “You’re a bit fucked up, aren’t you?” he says, not unkindly.  
  
James leans back against the worktop with a sigh. “That’s pretty much what Richard said, earlier.”  
  
Jeremy takes the spot next to him, and both men are silent for a while, until Jeremy says, “This isn’t the last time you’ll be able to do…this.”  
  
“With either of you it will be.” A pause, then smiling wryly, he continues, “I didn’t mean for that to come out so…petulant.”  
  
Jeremy turns toward him, skinny arms folded across his chest, further creasing his already wrinkled t-shirt. “Was this a mistake then? Is it just going to make everything worse for you?”  
  
“No,” James answers with certainty. “I’ll miss never having this again, but…no. I – I know for sure this is who I am now, I don’t have that sliver of doubt, that worry that maybe being with a man will feel just as wrong as being with a woman.” He clenches the fabric of one boxer leg in his fist. “I’m not the problem,” he says softly, but firmly. “Ignoring who I was, pretending I wasn’t different from everyone, that’s been the problem.”  
  
With finality, he pushes himself away from the counter and across the room to the sink. “While I’m awake, I’m going to take care of these dishes. You go back to sleep.”  
  
It’s just a moment before he can feel Jeremy’s stomach pressing into his back and large hands folding themselves over his. “James.” Thankfully, Jeremy doesn’t give the encouraging pep talk that’s more than likely on the tip of his tongue, instead continuing, “You’ve got us for a few more hours. Don’t push us away. Come back to bed.”  
  
Footsteps pad into the kitchen. “So this is where you two disappeared to,” a bare-chested Richard says, hoisting himself up onto the countertop next to the sink. He blinks tiredly, then says, “You’re not getting up to something without me, are you?”  
  
James nearly laughs at the childlike disappointment he can hear.  
  
“Only if you want to watch Slow do the washing up.” Jeremy squeezes James’ hands then steps back.  
  
“Do that later, mate,” Richard says, tugging on James’ arm until he stands with his body pressed against Richard’s legs.  
  
The talk turns, as it usually does amongst the three of them, to the upcoming  _Top Gear_  shoot. As he talks, Richard’s hand moves to play idly in James’ hair. James can’t help but lean in to the touch, eyes falling shut, listening to his two favorite men talk, occasionally opening his eyes to argue or interject.  
  
During a break in the conversation, Richard says – a little awe in his voice - “I can see a little now how it might be possible to convince yourself you’re attracted to a gender you’re not.”  
  
James turns his head in surprise. “Yeah?”  
  
“Yeah. All the affection you feel toward a person, then you get close, and…yeah.”  
  
Remembering what Jeremy had said about him having them for a few more hours, James turns his head and presses a kiss against Richard’s bare shoulder.  
  
“Mate?” Richard asks, quietly.  
  
“Hmm?”  
  
“Would you, er, would you like to fuck me?”  
  
The sound of surprise James makes is nothing compared to the choked noise that comes out of Jeremy’s mouth. “You’re sure?”  
  
“Yeah. If you want.”  
  
James isn’t sure if…well,  **that** …just isn’t his inclination or it’s only because it’s so much closer to the role he’s always played with the women he’s been with, but this hadn’t even really been on his radar. But now that it’s been brought up, now that he can see the barely-contained eagerness in Richard’s eyes, he knows there’s no way he can pass this up.  
  
“Yes,” he says, such longing in his voice that both Richard and Jeremy chuckle tenderly.  
  
\--  
  
The two of them are naked and hard again in a matter of minutes. Jeremy had begged off, assuring them it would be hours or more before he could go again, but he’s there, too, slumped tiredly against a couple of pillow, but with definite interest clear on his face.  
  
James turns his head for a moment to grab the supplies out of the bedside table. When he turns back, Richard is up on all fours, head hanging down.  
  
“Richard?” James says, uncertain.  
  
“Shit.” Richard flops onto the bed, on his back. “Is that okay with you? I should have asked.”  
  
“No, it’s…. You like that? It doesn’t make you feel…I don’t know. Used?”  
  
In a flash, a naked, hard Hammond is straddling his lap, hands on his shoulders. “It’s so good, James. I – I don’t….” He trails off, frustrated but trying to make James understand. “If I didn’t trust you, mate, yeah…it might feel like that. Listen, if you don’t want to, we don’t have to, we can do whatever you want. If you want face-to-face, you can lie there and I can ride you. Or, we can do what you and Jeremy did. Or, so many other things. Whatever you want.”  
  
“You’re sure you…you won’t feel…?”  
  
Richard presses their foreheads together and they kiss tenderly, for quite a while. Then when they pull apart, “Anyone who kisses me like that can’t make me feel cheap. It can’t happen. Well, maybe in some role-play thing, but not for real, and, and…never mind.” A dark flush covers Richard’s cheeks and chest, and James can’t help but snort his laughter.  
  
Jeremy, on the other hand, groans from his spot on the bed. “I don’t need to know this much about your sex life, Hamster.”  
  
“Sod off, Jezza.”  
  
James smiles. “If that’s what you want, then that’s what I want to do, Hammond.”  
  
Preparing Richard is easy, the younger man makes encouraging sounds as James slips each finger in and is confident in his requests to move things along. It almost makes James want to apologize for making this more difficult for Jeremy, but even he’ll admit there’s not much he could have done about it.  
  
“Ready?” James asks, finally, kneeling behind Richard with hands on his delicate hips.  
  
“Yeah. Fuck me, James. Let me feel you.”  
  
James slides carefully, slowly, into tight heat. “Oh. Oh, fuck yes,” he murmurs, trailing his fingers over Hammond’s back and sides. Simply the sight of the small, quivering body is nearly enough to make him come right there, so he stops, and looks away toward Jeremy.  
  
“Feels incredible, doesn’t it?” the other man asks with a smile.  
  
“Yes. Christ. ‘M gonna move now, Richard.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
It’s different than all his experiences with women, and at first James feels like he’s floundering, despite the moans and gasps coming from the man below him. But soon he finds a rhythm, trails his lips over Richard’s spine, grips his hips with a touch just light enough to leave no marks.  
  
Richard’s a pushy bottom, there’s no surprise there, soon pressing back against James, helping control the pace. It makes James laugh, and Jeremy, too. They laugh even harder when Richard tells them both to fuck off, but there’s no venom in his voice. It’s all fun, it all feels good, it’s all about them, together.  
  
James won’t last long, he knows it, he’s been through too much today, and this feels way too fucking good. So, soon he slows his thrusts, his hands gliding down the skin of Richard’s thighs, along the smooth skin of his arse. He grabs a handful in each palm and squeezes gently, causing Richard to giggle and squirm between pleased gasps and mutters.  
  
“Rich.”  
  
“Yeah, mate?” Richard cranes his neck to see him.  
  
“Can we…? Fuck.”  
  
“Anything, James. Anything you want.”  
  
“Want to see you come.”  
  
“God, yes.”  
  
He pulls out carefully, and Richard turns around. He kneels in front of James, wrapping him in his arms and kissing him passionately.  
  
“How ‘bout you lie down?” Richard asks with a grin.  
  
“That’ll be good for you?”  
  
“Fuck yes.”  
  
The sight of Richard impaling himself on James’ cock is one that’ll stick with him forever, and he has to dig his thumbs into his own thighs to stop himself coming.  
  
Richard begins to move: confidently, rhythmically, James’s hands on his hips helping hold him steady.  
  
“Touch me, James,” he whispers, and James folds his fingers over his hard, weeping cock. “Jesus. Jesus, mate.”  
  
“Come on. Come on, Richard.” There’s warm breath against James’ ear where Jeremy leans against him now, breathing hard.  
  
“James, James,” Richard gasps, coming in long, hot spurts across James’ chest, even hitting him in the chin. He lifts himself up once more, James’ cock almost leaving his body, then slams himself back down. Hard.  
  
“Oh. Fuck. Fuck!” While not as intense as the last, this orgasm still helps disprove his theory of an orgasm being an orgasm, regardless of your bed partner’s gender.  
  
Muscles quivering, chest heaving, James disposes of the condom with unsteady fingers and collapses onto the bed. The last thing he’s aware of is Richard flopping into the space next to him, dropping his head onto his shoulder.  
  
When he comes to, he’s the middle of a Top Gear sandwich, and this time it’s Richard’s who’s dozed off, snoring softly.  
  
“Never thought I’d see the day the little bugger’d get worn out,” Jeremy rumbles near his ear.  
  
James snorts tiredly and notices he’s been cleaned up, a bit. The semen’s gone from his chin, and there’s only a bit on his stomach and chest. “Are – are you sure I can’t do something for you?”  
  
Jeremy looks derisively down at where his own, almost completely flaccid, penis lies beneath his boxers. “It’s really not worth the effort it’d take to wake it up. At this point, I think I’d last about 30 seconds.”  
  
“I could still….” It’s partly that he wants to make Jeremy feel good, in whatever way he can, and partly his own selfish desire to be able to touch that body some more, that makes him ask.  
  
“No.” He presses his lips against James’ jaw. “Let’s just kip. And don’t you go on any more nighttime excursions without us.”  
  
“All right. Where, er, have you seen my pants?”  
  
\--  
  
James is exhausted, but after that brief period of unconsciousness, he finds he can’t fall back asleep. He shifts awkwardly, trying not to wake the two sleeping men beside him.  
  
“I can hear you thinking, May,” Jeremy grumbles quietly near his ear.  
  
“Sorry, Jez. Can’t sleep.” A warm arm flung lightly over his side makes him twitch in surprise. Then, with a quiet sigh, he relaxes into the touch. He can hear Jeremy make a pleased noise behind him.  
  
It’s quiet for a bit until James finally begins, “Jeremy, do you, er…. Never mind.”  
  
“No, what?”  
  
“It’s – nothing. Just forget it.”  
  
“Tell me. No point in having secrets now, is there?”  
  
“Well I wildly disagree with that, but…. I was just wondering how you – how you thought about what we did? As a straight man, having….” He trails off. “Never mind, Jez.”  
  
“Are you wondering whether I consider myself a homosexualist now? Don’t be ridiculous.”  
  
“You know that’s not what I meant.”  
  
Jeremy sighs, the warm breath against the back of James’ neck making him shiver. “I liked it. As a one-off. I admit that. I think it would be hard for me to claim otherwise. Most of it was, you know, that it was…well, you…but…I’m not going to be meeting men in carparks or, or the motorway services. It’s not – as a lifestyle – it’s not me. I’m not attracted to men. I’m as certain of that now as I was before.”  
  
“And were you very certain of it before?” James teases.  
  
“Why are you asking? You’re – you’re not hoping I…?”  
  
“No. No. Jeremy….” James sighs and rolls over to face the other man. From the bit of light shining past the curtains into the room, James can just make out the shape of his face. “That’s not it. I was just…wondering what it’s like from the other side, you know?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“I - I view this as me being very unbelievably lucky for a few hours, nothing more.”  
  
Jeremy nods and is silent for a while. James waits, wondering whether the other man is working something out inside his head. Jeremy usually speaks without thinking, so the times when he does, James tries to pay attention.  
  
“I almost wish I were, James,” he says, finally.  
  
“Jez?”  
  
“I – I said it before; there are worse ideas than you and me together. Or, the three of us is even better. And – and it would make you happy.”  
  
“Oh, Jez.” He finds the other man’s hand from where it’s still draped across his body and laces their fingers together. “I’ll be fine. I promise you.” And he believes it. For the first time, he really, truly believes it. Even if he never finds someone to spend the rest of his life with; he has a career he loves and friends who would do – literally – anything for him. Richard and Jeremy have certainly proven that. And now there’s this weight lifted off his shoulders.  
  
When Jeremy speaks again, there’s a hint of emotion still left in his voice. “Was that what’s been keeping you up, May? Thinking about my sexuality?”  
  
James huffs a laugh. “No. I – I think I want to come out. Publicly. I think I’m ready. Not – not today, but…soon.”  
  
“This series?”  
  
“Maybe. I – I don’t know if I should do it during the series. I think that will just put the focus on me instead of the show, and I don’t want that.”  
  
“We’ll talk about it this week. You, Hammond, Wilman, and me. We’ll figure it out.”  
  
“I don’t…. “ He stops and takes a deep breath, willing his voice to remain steady. “I don’t want to ruin the show, Jeremy.”  
  
There’s a brief squeeze of his hand, then Jeremy leans in and presses a long kiss to his forehead. “You won’t.  **This**  won’t. We’re behind you. All of us.”  
  
\--  
  
They play with the Scalextric the next day, and watch a film, and have lunch at the pub, and it’s all very normal. It’s all very them. Even the looks they give each other over half-lain track and across the table aren’t new, they’re just more frequent and with a little of the edge taken off.  
  
If he hadn’t awoken nearly naked, between a completely naked Richard and a barely dressed Jeremy, a bit of dried come still on his stomach, he might have thought the whole thing a wonderful, vivid dream. Until he walks them to the door to say good-bye.  
  
Richard hugs him tightly, and pulls his head down to say, in a choked whisper, that James is his best mate, and his brother – “er, minus the sex part,” which makes James laugh – and if any man ever treats James badly, just point him in the right direction and he’ll take care of it.  
  
Then he pulls back, squeezing James’ arms, and tells them both he’ll see them later in the week. Then he’s gone, a flash of scarf and leather jacket and boots out the door.  
  
James doesn’t want to look up, doesn’t want Jeremy to see the beginnings of emotion on his face, but the other man presses him against the wall and before he even realizes what is going on, James is lost in a passionate kiss.  
  
Unsurprisingly, one of Jeremy’s hands goes straight for his hair, the other cupping the side of his face. He moans into the kiss, he can’t help it, and draws Jeremy closer with fingers wrapped in the folds of his coat.  
  
“Jezza,” he murmurs against his lips. “Mmm, Jez.”  
  
They break apart, panting, and Jeremy leans against him, heads together. “Wanted to give you something to remember this by,” he says finally, pulling away with a cheeky grin on his face.  
  
“Yes, because otherwise I was going to forget it,” James answers, still breathing hard.  
  
The smile remains on Jeremy’s face, though it grows more serious. “I – I feel like there’s something I should say, but….” He laughs. “I think I’ve gone well over my quota of heartfelt for a while.”  
  
“You don’t have to say anything. You’ve – as so often is the case – you’ve done enough, Jez.”  
  
Jeremy nods and tugs a hat over his unruly curls. “I’d better be getting home. You – you have a nice rest of your birthday.”  
  
“I’ll try.”  
  
“And call your mum. Tell her. Not today, necessarily, but…. Soon. Let your family find out before the rest of the world does.”  
  
James blinks rapidly and crosses his arms tightly over his chest.  
  
“She loves you, James. I know I’ve only met her a couple of times, but she loves you so much. That much is obvious.”  
  
“I know.” Attempting to lighten the mood, James asks, “Any more words of wisdom, oh great Clarkson?”  
  
“Yeah. Check your damn mobile. I know you got a text you haven’t worked up the nerve to read. You saw who it was from but never opened it, and the damn thing’s been bonging for the last two hours.”  
  
“It’s from Colin.”  
  
“Read it.”  
  
James knows he doesn’t literally mean now, but if it’s bad, having Jeremy here might make it easier to take. He walks to the bookcase where he’d stashed his phone earlier and grabs it, then walks back to where Jeremy’s standing. He reads it. Smiles.  
  
“And…?”  
  
“Says ‘happy birthday,’ and he wants to know if I want to go the pub for birthday drinks.” James swallows. “And it says that he’s a bastard and he’s sorry.”  
  
“Said he’d be all right.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
Jeremy fiddles with the zips on his coat, and James can tell he’s just stalling now. He steps closer, places his palms flat against the sides of Jeremy’s face, and smiles. “Thank you, Jez. I told you, I’ll be fine.”  
  
Jeremy nods, awkwardly, with his face trapped between James’ hands. “I know.”  
  
“Good. Now go home.”  
  



	7. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few months later....

“It’s so nice to see you, James,” Francie Clarkson greets him as he walks into the Clarkson house, immediately pressing a glass of wine into his hand as she kisses his cheek.  
  
“And you, Francie. The house looks lovely, as do you.”  
  
“Thank you.” Then, loudly, and over her shoulder, “See, darling. James said I looked lovely. That’s all I wanted.”  
  
Over the din of the party, James can hear Jeremy reply, though he can’t see the man. “Yes, dear, but James is a gayist. He doesn’t count.”  
  
James smiles uncomfortably, not yet quite used to having his sexual orientation discussed in such a blasé manner. (Well, that’s not strictly true. Jeremy has always made such comments; it’s just that before, nearly everyone assumed he was merely taking the piss.) But it’s out there now, has been for the last two weeks: Top Gear’s James May is a homosexual.  
  
But as Jeremy’s friends are all…well, if not James’ friends, at least friendly acquaintances, they only greet James with a smile or a small wave or a nod or a bit of indifference and turn back to their conversations or their food or their drink, and James relaxes a bit.  
  
“Last I saw him, Jeremy was in the kitchen, hoarding all the starters.”  
  
“Sounds like Jeremy. I shall find him, give him his present.”  
  
Jeremy is alone in the kitchen, picking at a cheese plate, and he greets James with a big grin, throwing his arms wide. “James!”  
  
“You’ve been drinking, Jeremy,” James notes with an approving smile, taking a sip of his own wine and thrusting a bag out toward his friend.  
  
“I have been. It’s my birthday.” As he pulls the bottle out of the bag, “And my favorite wine! Now I can drink more! Thank you, James.”  
  
Then he glances past James, frowning, as if suspecting to see something or someone. “Where’s your…where’s your bloke? Where’s David? I did you tell you to bring him, didn’t I? I meant to.”  
  
“You did, Jeremy. Several times. His parents are moving house in a couple of weeks; he went up there this weekend to help clear out the house, pack some things. He won’t be back until late tonight.”  
  
“Ahh,” Jeremy says in understanding, knocking back another sip of whatever is in the plastic tumbler he’s holding. “And it’s too early to meet the parents.”  
  
“Already have done,” James says with a shy smile.  
  
“Slow!”  
  
“It’s not – he didn’t introduce me as the man he wants to marry or anything. His parents visited and David took them to dinner, and he invited me along. They’re nice people, Jez. His dad drives a Beetle, but I like them anyway.”  
  
“James….” Jeremy smiles, happy for him, and James has to look at the floor to hide his pleased flush. “At least he doesn’t drive a Marina. Or a Sunny. Or a  **Porsche**.”  
  
“Sod off, Clarkson.” Jeremy laughs, and James continues, “David insisted I come here today. Said….” James trails off in a mumble.  
  
“What was that, Slow?”  
  
He stands straighter. “He said he knew it was important to me that I be here.”  
  
Jeremy holds out the cheese plate, and James takes one and pops it into his mouth. “And I’m glad you are.”  
  
James nods and swallows, then clears his throat. “Can – can I talk to you a minute?”  
  
“I thought we were talking?”  
  
“Don’t be obtuse. I mean, in your study or something?”  
  
“Yeah. Course.”  
  
Inside the study, Jeremy locks the door behind them. “Fin’s been spending time in here when he wants to get away from his sisters,” he explains. “What is it?” He sets the pilfered cheese plate on the corner of his desk and grabs another.  
  
“Nothing, nothing bad. I just – just wanted to give you your birthday present.”  
  
“The wine wasn’t it?”  
  
“It was part of it.” James shifts his weight awkwardly from one foot to the other and watches Jeremy sit on the edge of his desk. He digs in the inside pocket of his jacket and pulls out a wrapped present. “Here.”  
  
Jeremy tears off the wrapping not unlike an excited child. “It’s a CD.”  
  
“Yeah, it’s…. It’s me. On the piano. I – I recorded some songs I know you like, and some others that I think you would enjoy.”  
  
Jeremy stands then, staring at the CD. “You made me a CD of your piano playing?”  
  
“Yeah, I rented a…you can just throw it away if you think it’s stupid, I just thought….”  
  
“No, no. James, I think it’s great,” he says, turning it over in his hands and reading the track names that James had written in his best scrawl. “Thank you.”  
  
“You – you said you wanted to hear me play, and this – this is the best I can do for now.”  
  
“Thank you. It means a lot to me, it really does.” Jeremy finally looks up, a small smile on his face.  
  
James smiles back and swallows, wringing his damp hands together. “There’s something else.”  
  
“Another birthday present?”  
  
“Not – no. Just, just something that’s long overdue.”  
  
“What’s that?”  
  
Eyes on the third button on Jeremy’s shirt, James steps forward, leaving only a few inches between them. Perhaps sensing James is gathering his courage, Jeremy remains still and silent. James takes a few long, slow breaths and wraps his fingers around Jeremy’s arm, just below his elbow. “Jez,” he begins, then gives his head a shake and finally looks up. “I love you.”  
  
Jeremy grins. “Are you sure you mean that? You’re not just saying that because I said it first?”  
  
“If I were, would it have taken me three months?”  
  
Jeremy’s grin relaxes into a soft, indulgent smile. “Knowing you? Yes.”  
  
James lets go of his arm and smacks him with the back of his hand. “Pillock.”  
  
“Ah, but you love me.”  
  
“Arse.”  
  
“And you love that.”  
  
James can feel his face burning again, but he just laughs. Then, when Jeremy pulls his phone out of his pocket and starts texting, “What are you doing?”  
  
“Texting Hamster, telling him to get his arse in here. He’s outside, taunting the donkeys or something.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
"I don't know. Why does Hammond do anything he does?"  
  
"No, I mean...?"  
  
Jeremy lifts his head and smirks. “So you can tell him, too, of course.”  
  
“Clarkson, I….”  
  
“Were you lying that night outside the pub when you told him that you felt the same way about him as you do me?”  
  
“No, but….” He sighs. “Can’t I wait until  **his**  birthday?” he asks, trying and failing to keep from whinging like a child.  
  
“No.”  
  
Then James can hear the doorknob being turned, and Richard’s cry from the hallway. “Well, unlock the fucking thing, Jez.”  
  
“You’re a fixer, Jeremy Clarkson,” James says as the other man moves to unlock the door. “Most of the time, you see a problem but can’t be bothered.” The door opens and Richard enters, clearly listening to their conversation. “Then, every once in a while….”  
  
“When it’s important to me,” Jeremy interrupts.  
  
“…You feel you have to fix it. And nine times out of ten, it all goes horribly wrong because you tried to fix it by hitting it with a hammer. I mean – this,” he moves his hand to indicate the three of them, “this could’ve been a bloody disaster.”  
  
“No, mate,” Richard says, dropping into the sofa. “We said we wouldn’t let it, remember?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“So, what am I?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“If Jeremy’s a fixer, what am I?”  
  
James smiles. “You, Richard, are the bloke who sits there, minding his own business, waiting for a fight to break out. And that’s when you come in.”  
  
Richard grins, looking pleased, and also quite proud of himself. “Sounds like me.”  
  
“I need – I need both of you. In my life.”  
  
“You have us, mate.”  
  
James smiles softly and sits next to Richard while Jeremy pulls his desk chair away from the desk and sits heavily.  
  
“Jeremy said you had something to tell me, James?”  
  
James makes himself look up, into Richard’s eyes. Richard tilts his head in confusion but waits patiently. “I love you, Richard.”  
  
Richard grins and wraps his arms around James’ shoulder, pulling him close. James lets himself be pulled, squeezes Richard’s upper arms briefly then sits back. “I knew that, you know.”  
  
James smiles, pleased. “I know. But Jeremy thinks I should say these things.”  
  
“You should.  **We**  should. And I love you, too.”  
  
James looks back and forth expectantly between his friends. “Well?”  
  
“Well, what?” Jeremy grouses.  
  
“Don’t the two of you have something to say to each other?”  
  
Jeremy shrugs. “We’ve already done that,” he mumbles.  
  
“When?”  
  
“When Richard was in hospital.”  
  
James tries not to look hurt, but from the way Richard grabs his hand, he’s not been successful.  
  
“Wanted to tell you, too, mate. But we reckoned it’d only make you uncomfortable.”  
  
James can’t deny that. He also can’t deny that he’s being a bit hypocritical, expecting his friends to willingly say what he’s found so difficult.  
  
“You told David that, yet?” Jeremy asks.  
  
“It’s only been a few weeks, Clarkson. Of course not. I like him – I like him a lot – but it’s too soon for all that.”  
  
“Probably been too soon for sex, then, too.”  
  
James knows he’s only said it to trick James into sharing information he’d usually keep private, but he can’t keep the flush off his face and neck.  
  
“Aha!” Jeremy says, triumphant.  
  
“We haven’t….” James rubs at the back of his head. “We haven’t done…everything.”  
  
“But there have been orgasms?”  
  
“Yes. You cock.”  
  
Richard chuckles and finally lets go of his hand. “I like him, mate. I can tell he makes you happy.”  
  
“He does.”  
  
“Much better than…what was his name?” Jeremy asks, a sneer on his face.  
  
“Ethan?”  
  
“Yes. That fat arse.”  
  
James hides a smile. Ethan hadn’t been a bad bloke, really, though James hadn’t liked him enough to get past the second date, but Jeremy had taken an instant disliking to him. Probably because he rode a motorcycle. Or maybe it was because – in an attempt to prove that he was okay with James’ being gay - Colin had introduced them, and that had made Jeremy suspicious and strangely protective, without cause.  
  
Richard and Jeremy launch into impressions of Ethan’s somewhat distinctive laugh – which James has enough self-awareness to recognize as not nearly as annoying as his own – and then there’s a knock on the door.  
  
“Jeremy?” It’s Francie. “Is James in there with you?”  
  
“Yes, darling. Come on in.”  
  
Francie opens the door. “I have someone here who wants to see you, James,” and the words aren’t even all the way out of her mouth before James sees him – all dark brown hair and kind green eyes, a sheepish smile on his face – standing there behind her.  
  
“David,” he breathes, standing. He barely notices Francie departing with a pleased grin aimed in Jeremy’s direction. He hates public displays of affection, but he’s not sure he can consider Jeremy and Richard public anymore, and anyway, he can’t stop his arms from wrapping themselves around David’s shoulders. “How’d you – I thought you wouldn’t be back for hours.”  
  
“Took less time than I expected,” he murmurs in James’ ear. “Chris was able to skive off early and come help.” He pulls away with a final squeeze but leaves an arm around James’ shoulders. “Richard. Jeremy, happy birthday.” James can hear the smile in his voice without even looking and a wave of warmth washes over him knowing it’s because of him.  
  
Both men greet him with hearty handshakes, and Richard offers up his seat so James and David can sit together, instead sitting on the edge of the desk. “No comment from you,” Richard warns as he catches the way Jeremy eyes his legs swinging as they dangle in the air.  
  
Jeremy grabs the scotch from where it’s hidden in a high cupboard, and they sit, eating cheese and drinking scotch and talking. After a while, James notices he’s slumped in his seat and his head is resting against David’s shoulder, David’s hand curved lightly over his knee. But he doesn’t sit up or pull away, embarrassed. He just sighs softly, happily, and David turns toward him and grins, then leans down and kisses him lightly.  
  
When he settles back against David’s shoulder, so warm and comfortable, he catches Jeremy and Richard sharing pleased smiles, and he’s never felt so loved.


End file.
